


Fear of Falling Apart

by silentid



Series: Psychotic Trio [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blades, Blood, Blow Jobs, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentid/pseuds/silentid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford thinks his life has reached rock bottom. He goes to the bar, from there things get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Crimson Peak a few weeks back, between that and the dark!Ford that's been around lately, this seemed like an interesting idea and then it got out of hand.  
> Title is from Panic! at the Disco's This is Gospel.

Fiddleford didn't think his night could get any worse. 

Here he was, in what he suspected was the only bar this sleepy Oregon town had. One too many drinks in, with two to many sitting on the bar counter in front of him. 

The trip was supposed to have been a fun family vacation; given him and his wife a chance to reconnect away from the hustle and bustle of California. He knew he had become too wrapped up in his work, he was so certain personal computers were the future, and his chance at making it big. But at the same time he didn't want to lose his wife or young son so he had agreed to the trip. 

He had thought things were going well but he must have missed the signs once again, because he had come back from a hike with his boy only to find his wife putting her and the kid’s gear back into the car. Sure she had said that he was welcome back in their home, as long as he took a few days to actually relax and decide what he wanted for himself, but it felt like the end regardless. 

So here he was. And since his night was already the worst there didn't seem to be any harm in drinking that next drink. With this rationale in mind he polished off the glass waiting for him, and was surprised when the bartender set another in front of him. 

"Courtesy of the fella in the corner booth back there." The bartender said over Fiddleford's protests, indicating the booth in question.

Fiddleford let this sink in for a few moments before shrugging and picking up the glass. He wove his way toward the booth, feeling rather pleased when he made it, having not spilled his drink and only knocked over a single chair. 

“Suppose if you’re willin' to buy I might as well come over and share a drink with ya." Fiddleford said, the anger and alcohol heating his veins in equal parts made him feel brave. 

The man in the booth gave a low chuckle and indicated Fiddleford should take a seat. "It seemed a shame someone as good looking as you should be drinking all alone tonight."

Fiddleford flushed as he took the offered seat. He was pretty sure that this was not what his wife had had in mind when she said to figure himself out. And yet as he took in the man’s large hands wrapped loosely around a pint glass and warm brown eyes, Fiddleford figured it might be exactly what he needed. 

“Names Stan. Stan Pines,” the stranger said, offering one of those large hands for Fiddleford to shake. 

“Fiddleford McGucket, pleased to meet ya.” Fiddleford returned. This garnered another chuckle. He shook the offered hand enjoying the warmth of it and how it completely engulfed his own. Fiddleford was surprised at how sorry he was to lose the warm connection with the man when their hands parted. 

“That’s one hell of a name. So tell me Fiddleford McGucket," Stan began, "what's got you down in the cups tonight?"

And Fiddleford told him. About his work, and his wife, and the vacation that was supposed to fix everything. The sober corner of his brain cringed at his honesty, but he appreciated the other man's kindness in just listening. He never interjected, beyond a well-timed sympathetic comment, and he made sure the alcohol kept flowing for the both of them. 

By the time the bartender gave last call Fiddleford had pretty much run dry or was too drunk to keep talking. Stan helped the taller man up, slinging one of Fiddleford's arms over his shoulder. He left a pile of bills on the table that covered their tab and a generous tip, and slipped out in the hustle and bustle of last call. Half carrying a drunk man, made the short walk to Stan's car a bit of a challenge. However, he had started drinking water a couple rounds back and was still buzzed, but coming down quickly. It also helped that even as drunk as Fiddleford was he still tried to help. 

"It’s mighty kinda ya, to help a fella out like this." Fiddleford slurred into Stan's ear, as they wove towards a red car in the back of the parking lot. "I really appreciate it, not just this, but the whole evenin', yer a good listener."

Stan chuckled, as he helped Fiddleford into the passenger seat of his car. He enjoyed the man's politeness and accent, which had only gotten thicker as the night wore on. He was actually surprised how much he liked the taller man's company. 

"Alrighty, it’s a short drive to my place but if you’re gonna be sick do it out the window or somethin'." 

Stan got into the driver’s seat and took off towards home. He hummed along to whatever was on the radio, occasionally sparing a glance for the unconscious man in the passenger seat. He was probably a bit too buzzed to be driving, but the streets were nearly empty this time of night and the drive to the secluded cabin in the woods, while twisty, took little real navigation. 

When he finally turned off the main road, Stan grinned at the crunching sound of gravel beneath the tires. He pulled up the recently built cabin, really more of a shack in his opinion, but home nonetheless. He turned the car off and got out with a stretch, enjoying the warm buzz he still felt. That was until a retching noise had him around to the passenger side like a shot. 

Thankfully Fiddleford had gotten the door open and was emptying his stomach onto the ground and not the floor of the car. Stan patted the other man's back sympathetically.

"There, there pal, let it all out. You'll feel better soon."

Once Fiddleford had stopped vomiting and his shaking had quieted down. Stan slung the taller man’s arm around his shoulder again and helped him into the house. The two wove their way down a flight of stairs and into an elevator. Stan gratefully leaned Fiddleford against the elevators wall during their descent. While he was by no means drunk, his head was developing a solid headache in protest of the night’s events. When the elevator reached the third floor, Stan called out for his twin brother.

"Stanford, I know you’re down here. Get your sorry ass out here and give us a hand." 

Stan carried the unconscious man deeper into the lab, depositing Fiddleford at his brother’s desk. He turned around and almost jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with his brother.

“Stan what are you doing down here so late?” Stanford asked, crowding further into Stan’s personal space. “You smell like alcohol, why were you drinking?”

“Geez Ford, you can’t keep doing that sneaking up thing I thought we talked about it, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” Stan said, shaking his head as his brother attempted a lackluster apology. “Anyway I smell like alcohol because I was at the bar, finding you a new test subject. I think you’ll like him. He’s an engineer, or something like that, really into your nerd stuff.”

Stan turned back around, bringing Ford’s attention to the prone man at his desk before he could make a retort to Stan’s comment.

“Stanley, you didn’t. Ho-how did you know I was starting to think about needing a human test subject again?” Ford said excitedly, squeezing his brother’s hand before hurrying over to the man at his desk, checking him over. 

Stan chuckled at his brother excitement. “Cause I know you, bro. Gravity Falls and all its supernatural weirdness has been good for you, but I can tell when you’re starting to get antsy. Be careful with him, he was sick earlier when we got out of the car.”

The twins worked in tandem cleaning Fiddleford up, stripping him down to his boxers, and securing him in one of the cages Ford kept various specimens in near his desk. The cage was specially prepared, well cleaned after its last supernatural tenant, and a small cot and blanket added. They also secured one of Fiddleford’s wrists to a bar of the cage with a pair of handcuffs, and left a bucket next to the cot in case Fiddleford’s nausea returned with his consciousness. 

Stan sat heavily in Ford’s desk chair when the work was done, his headache making itself well known. “Ugh, he’s pretty heavy for a bean pole. Poor sod was so drunk I had to carry him outta the bar. His wife just left him, or something like that, real sob story.”

Ford plopped down in Stan’s lap, pulling a red journal from the bottom drawer of the desk. It looked similar to the journal Ford had begun recording his findings on the supernatural happenings around Gravity Falls, but it lacked the numbered gold hand on the cover. Ford opened it to a blank page, and began writing. He recorded the data he had collected while they were securing Fiddleford, as well as the details Stan recounted from the stories the two men had swapped earlier that evening. 

“Hmmm I will need any more information you can recall Stanley. Of course I will get as much as I can from him as well, but he could always lie, and it would be good to corroborate as much of it as possible. I’ll have to decide which methods and exact experiments I want to conduct. Perhaps a comparison to the gnome I dissected last week, hmmm.” Ford mused while he scribbled across the journal’s pages. 

Stan grinned at his brother’s excitement, glad to see him so happy. He rested his chin on Ford’s shoulder, and watched him write. Ford had always been… well, colder would be the best way for Stan to describe it. Cold and scientific. Even when they were kids he had seen everything as a puzzle to be figured out, even living things. Stan figured he had always known about Ford’s colder side. Little things started to add up, like the way he got a little too excited about finding a dead rat in a bucket. Or spent a little too long dissecting his meat at the dinner table. 

But Stan had always done his best to look out for his brother, and that included keeping him out of trouble when he was trying to solve his gorier puzzles. Ford had a habit of getting a bit carried away and didn’t always see the importance of disposing of the remains, since at that point they no longer held any scientific value and only acted as a waste of precious time that could be spent on the next mystery. So it had been Stan that kept the two of them out of real trouble. Catching stray animals and later humans that wouldn’t be missed. Doing his best to keep them squeaky clean with their parents and later the law. Or when that wasn’t possible at least keeping them one step ahead of the law. 

That was one of the reason he was so fond of Gravity Falls, the cops were as dumb as rocks. Between that, the towns peoples' easy acceptance of the strange, and enough mysteries to keep Ford busy for a life time Stan thought they had a real chance of making a life in the small town. He already had a few money making schemes in mind. His particular favorite being a tourist trap he had jokingly dubbed the Murder Hut. Though, he doubted Ford would go along with that particular name or idea for that matter, but he could scheme all the same. 

As Stan ran out of details about their captive, and Ford’s pen slowed its frantic scratching, Stan nuzzled at his brother’s neck. “You about finished, Poindexter? I’m long past bein’ ready for bed, and it’s not like your new toy isn’t gonna be here come morning.”

“I guess your right Stan. There will plenty of time in the morning, and until then I have another project it would be good to finish up.” Ford agreed, moving to stand, albeit hesitantly since his brother’s lap was one of his favorite seats. 

“Nope,” Stan said, standing before Ford could get his feet under him. He swept his older brother into his arms along the way. “It’s been way to long since I’ve seen you sleep in an actual bed. It’s time for you to come back upstairs, and get reacquainted with furniture actually designed for sleeping on.”

Ford grumbled about his brother’s actions, his struggles and complaints halfhearted at best, begrudgingly allowing Stan to carry him to the elevator and upstairs to bed.


	2. Perfect Imposter

Fiddleford came awake slowly the next morning. He was grateful for the dimness and cool temperature of the room he had awoken in, as neither aggravated the throbbing pain that lurked just around the edges of his brain. He was in no hurry to sit up, knowing that that pain would come out full force if he did. Instead he rolled over and found a more comfortable position intending to go back to sleep, or at least he tried to. He was stopped by a loud clanking noise and a sharp tug on his wrist. 

His eyes snapped to the cuffs around his wrist. He scrambled upright ignoring the pounding pain this caused. His heart raced as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. Sure his intentions hadn't been all that pure when he had headed over to talk with the stranger at the bar. But after what had turned into a drunken heart to heart, he had never meant to cheat on his wife. And yet the evidence pointed to something having happened last night. He had woken in a cot that wasn't his own, with his hand cuffed to a bar, and now that the blanket had slipped from his body he was noticing his lack of clothing. A wave of ice shot through his veins putting a stop to his panic. A number of the things he had just observed didn't actually add up to a one night stand with some random guy from a bar. 

He was alone, no sign of his host, the cot he was sitting on could never have accommodated more than one person, and the cuffs were definitely attached to a bar that made up a cage. How stupid could he be, all the warnings he and his wife had given their son about stranger danger and he was the one that ended up kidnapped. At this realization the icy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He leaned forward retching into the bucket. 

"Oh good you’re awake." A voice rang out, through what Fiddleford was beginning to suspect was a basement. 

A man stepped up to the bars near the cot. Looking at him Fiddleford suspected he could only be the man he had met at the bar last night. He was shorter than Fiddleford but much broader, and looked to be a few years younger. His eyes had a sharp focus, while his hair and clothes spoke to a disheveled absentmindedness Fiddleford associated with college campuses. That wasn't how Fiddleford had pegged the guy last night but he also hadn't guessed the guy would kidnap him, so obviously first impressions could be wrong. 

"Here I'm supposed to give you these." The man said, passing a bottle of water and container of painkillers through the bars. "Just inform me of your dosage and how often you take any pills, it will be useful for establishing a base line. Do you take any medications regularly? You didn't have any on you last night but that's not necessarily indicative."

"Wha...t?" Fiddleford spluttered, almost choking on the water he had been using to rinse out his mouth. 

"I will need to perform a routine physical, again to establish a baseline, but any basic medical history you can provide will speed along the process and make the information more accurate." The man stared intently at Fiddleford, a six fingered hand held a pen poised over an open red journal. 

Six fingers, how much had he had to drink last night Fiddleford wondered to himself. He was pretty sure he should have noticed that detail.

"Now, now you listen here, Stan Pines." Fiddleford began, cobbling together a bravado he didn't feel. "I don't know what you think is happening here, but you had better let me go right now. I have a family and they'll be looking for me, so if you don't want the cops knocking on your door you'll, you'll let me go." 

The man on the other side of the bars continued to stare at Fiddleford, a small smile quirking his lips. "Mr. McGucket, as I am sure you realize you have no bargaining power in this situation. I am well aware that your wife has returned to California and is not expecting you any time soon. Your things will be picked up from your hotel in the next couple of days. It will simply seem like you checked and never returned home"

Fiddleford's heart sank, he knew what the man said was true because he had given him that information last night. How stupid could he get? All he had wanted was to make things right with his family, and now he wasn't even sure he would see them again. 

The icy feeling returned to his stomach, and all he wanted to do was throw up again. Instead he grabbed the painkillers, downed two of them, and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. He tried to ignore his captor, but the man continued to stare at him from the other side of the bars. 

Finally Fiddleford realized what he wanted, "Two pills, 500 mg." He bit out, trying to make the words as scathing as possible. 

The man hummed jotting a note in his journal. He tossed a brief thank you in Fiddleford's direction, as he headed to other projects deeper in the lab. Fiddleford curled tighter in on himself. All he hoped was that the painkillers and some sleep would help his body feel better. Then he might be able to come up with some sort of plan for his current predicament.

When Fiddleford woke from his nap he still felt hungover, but not as foggy as his earlier bout of consciousness. He took another couple of painkillers, and set about actually taking stock of his situation.

There wasn’t anything else inside the cage with him, besides the cot and the bucket. The cot took up about a third of the total space inside the cage. If he weren’t handcuffed he would be able to move around comfortably. Outside the cage the nearest furniture, in what Fiddleford was now certain was a basement, were an adjacent cage and a cluttered desk. Further into the space Fiddleford could make out other cluttered tables, some potential control panels, and looming machinery. 

Fiddleford spent the next couple of hours testing how far the handcuffs would allow him to move. Since it was attached to a bar he could actually stand up and stretch a bit, while the cuff slid up and down. He used this freedom to test the cot, looking for any loose pieces he might be able to use as a weapon or on the handcuffs. Unfortunately, for him the cot was simple enough to have few parts and had been secured to the bars it rested against. 

By the end of his investigations he had concluded he was well and truly trapped. Any escape would have to involve getting Stan to release the handcuffs first. He wasn’t entirely sure of his chances against the stouter man if it came to a fight. Though his childhood bullies had often underestimated him, Stan might do the same. And if he could get one good hit in he might have chance of running for it. But so far his plans involved a lot of ifs. He didn’t even know what was above the basement if he was able to escape. It wouldn’t do him any good to escape from here only to find himself lost in the woods his captor likely knew well. 

He vaguely remembered Stan saying something about having a cabin not far from the bar, and he couldn’t remember being in the car for all that long last night. But at the same time he couldn’t really remember leaving the bar last night, so he wasn’t putting too much stock in his drunken memories.

He was sitting up in the corner of the cot once again wrapped up in the blanket when his captor reappeared. Fiddleford had been nursing his hangover, before the heavy footsteps of the other man had startled him into full awareness. He watch as Stan sat at the nearby desk. The man was muttering under his breath, and was absorbed in another red journal. It was different from the one from this morning. It didn’t look as old, and instead of a blank cover it had the image of a six fingered hand emblazoned on the front. 

Fiddleford watched and listened to his captor, hoping to learn anything he could about him. It didn’t take long before Fiddleford was certain the man was a total whack job. If kidnapping hadn’t been enough of a tip off, the man appeared to be taking meticulous notes about unicorns. He also seemed to be pretty frustrated by the mythical beings. Although Fiddleford wasn’t sure what to make of that information. 

He tried once or twice to break his captor’s concentration. First with bravado and threats, and then with inane questions about the man’s mutterings. The only thing this achieved was attracting the man’s sharp gaze, long enough for him to ask if Fiddleford had taken any more medication. Once Fiddleford had stuttered out his answer the man completely ignored him, returning to the work scattered across his desk. 

Fiddleford continued to watch Stan work. The man had intense focus that Fiddleford found quite frightening when it was turned on him. But when it was directed towards his captor’s projects, Fiddleford found it almost soothing. He recognized a similar state in himself when he got completely wrapped up in his latest electronics. He had enjoyed that focus in his colleagues and friends, which led him to the startling realization that if he had met Stan in college he probably would have gotten along with the guy. He seemed the quintessential workaholic nerd, an apt description for most of Fiddleford’s friends. 

As the hours wore on, Fiddleford found himself starting to nod off. Stan seemed intent to work well through the night. And Fiddleford’s random questions and statements hadn’t received a response for quite some time. Between his bodies leftover exhaustion from the previous evenings activities and the mutterings coming from his captor Fiddleford soon found himself lulled to sleep. 

\----

When he woke the next morning it seemed the day was going to go much the same as yesterday. Fiddleford could already hear his captor working somewhere deeper in the lab. A plate of food and water bottle sat on the floor by the cot, and the bucket had been cleaned out or replaced. 

Fiddleford inspected the food. To his surprise he had been left a small stack of pancakes and an apple. He grabbed the bottle and the apple. Passing on the pancakes since he still had no idea what his captor's intentions were. Cooked food seemed like a good way to slip him something, and Fiddleford knew he needed to keep his wits about him. Munching on the apple he looked over the cage and surrounding area one more time confirming his assessment of his situation from yesterday. 

With a sigh he dropped the apple core back on the plate, and used the bucket to relieve himself. He then turned back to the cot and the scant warmth the blanket afforded him. Yesterday the coolness of the basement had felt wonderful with his hangover. Now the low temperature and his lack of clothing's simply made him feel vulnerable. At least the blanket provided some covering. 

As the day progressed Fiddleford's only real distraction from his own thoughts was watching or listening to his captor work. The other man seemed to fluctuate between projects as different ideas struck him. Fiddleford found little comfort in this, it made him miss his own work, his home, and his family. But thinking about those things did keep his mind off his biggest fear, what the man planned on doing with him. 

When the other man's work brought him close enough to the cage, Fiddleford attempted to engage him in conversation. The horrors his own mind managed to imagine, made him desperate enough to talk to the only person available to him, even if those same fears had him convinced that person planned to kill him.

"Wh-what are you gonna do with me?" Fiddleford asked, again attempting a bravado he didn't feel, while Stan rooted around in one of the desk drawers. 

"I honestly haven't decided yet." The other man answered flippantly, not even looking up from his search. "I have a few comparisons I would like to make between you and other specimens. But I had only just begun thinking about that, I didn't expect you to fall into my lap quite like this."

Fiddleford’s face burned from embarrassment, he felt even more stupid that he had made himself such an easy target. He had fallen into the hands of a psycho not even looking for prey. "Other specimens? So you have other people cooped up down here?" The thought that he might not be the only captive had given him some hope. If he could communicate with them maybe they could coordinate an escape attempt. 

"People? No, no other humans, but I do have a few creatures from the woods. Some of them have remarkable physiology, and it will be useful to have you as a comparison for human biology."

"Are-are you going to kill me?" Fiddleford finally asked, his heart pounding. The man was being surprisingly chatty. But the answers Fiddleford was getting weren't all that comforting. They were likely just going to act as more fuel for his own fearful imagination. He figured he may as well quit beating around the bush and try and get the answers he really wanted.

The question finally caused Stan to quit his search and turn to look at his captive. "Kill you, no that's not my intention. Do you think me some kind of murderer?"

Fiddleford felt his hopes rise, this was the first sane thing the man had said. Perhaps he was realizing the absurdity of the situation, and this would all turn out to be some bizarre misunderstanding.

"It’s never my intention for my test subjects to die. Unfortunately, living beings are terribly fragile. They tend not to last long under the methods necessary for me to collect my data.”

Fiddleford’s ears filled with a buzzing static, as he processed his captor’s matter of fact statement. The other man had continued to talk but Fiddleford could no longer hear him over the buzzing. His earlier hopes were dashed, and he felt a sort of hysteria rising to take their place.

Eventually Stan trailed off. The silence helped Fiddleford come back to himself, although he still felt afloat. He could tell the man was pointing at something and was looking for some sort of response from him. 

“Sorry, wh-what was that?” Fiddleford heard the words fall from his lips, but couldn’t remember thinking them. 

“I said you should be eating everything I provide for you. I have attempted to create a nutrition plan that helps you keep your strength up and gives you the best chance of surviving experiments.” Stan replied, continuing to point to the uneaten plate of pancakes on the floor.

Fiddleford began to laugh, fully consumed by the hysteria. He tried to calm down, a small part of him worried about upsetting the man who currently dictated his life. But his laughter only continued when he noticed the petulant expression on Stan's face.

"Sorry, I've just never considered pancakes to be part of a balanced diet." Fiddleford gasped when he had gotten some control back over his breathing. The corner of his brain that wasn't completely adrift realized that laughing at his captor may not be in his best interests. That part of him felt panic about potentially upsetting the man outside the cage. 

The man continued to pout, and really Fiddleford thought only he would manage to get caught by a psycho killer who pouted.

"Pancakes are a perfectly acceptable breakfast food. They’re a good source of protein, as well as vitamins and minerals depending on how you make them. And there were leftovers this morning,” Stan admitted with slightly sheepish shrug. “Regardless you should eat them, they will help with any lingering effects of your hangover, and you will need your strength when we get to the actual testing.”

“How do I know you didn’t put anything in them?” Fiddleford asked. The terrified part of his brain had managed to regain some control with his captor’s frank reminder of Fiddleford’s fate, but the floating feeling hadn’t completely gone. 

“You don’t.” The man stated. “If it makes you feel any better though, I wouldn’t poison you. My intention isn’t to kill you. But if you do die it will be from something with a more personal touch.” With that he grabbed some papers off the desk and headed back into the lab. 

Fiddleford slumped back onto the cot. He kept a careful eye on the other man’s retreating back, until it was out of sight. Fear and hysteria mixed in equal measure in his head, making it hard for him come up with any real thoughts. His vision had also narrowed, the room seeming to spin slightly, while his hands and feet felt numb. The nausea was also back, and if it worsened he wasn’t confident he would make it to bucket in time. He spent the rest of the night curled in a ball on the cot in a semi catatonic state. 

At some point Stan came back to the desk to work. While Fiddleford watched him in much the same way as the night before, he didn’t try to interact with his captor again. He had gotten more than enough information during their last talk. As sleep finally claimed his frayed mind he fervently wished that this was all a dream, and that it would be gone when he woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing about pancakes is from the internet, apparently pancakes are good addition to a balanced diet depending on what ingredients you use. I highly doubt any pancake I've ever made would count, but to each their own.


	3. A Spark of Hope

The next few days followed the same formula as the first two. Fiddleford started eating the food left for him. He figured his captor’s rationale was sound. He had no doubt the man intended to hurt him, possibly to the point of death, but this same certainty made him confident it wouldn’t be done through his food. 

Fiddleford had stopped talking with his captor as much. His original hope of connecting with the man still existed, but it had weakened with each unsuccessful interaction. His captor seemed unaffected by any of his stories or statements, and Fiddleford was losing hope of the man ever seeing him as anything beyond a lab rat. Despite this Fiddleford couldn’t help feeling grateful at each day that passed without incident. Sure he was still chained up, practically naked, in a psycho’s basement but that same psycho kept providing decent food and hadn’t done anything to hurt him yet, maybe he never would. 

The morning that marked Fiddleford’s first full week in the basement started with a surprising change from the previous days’ routines. Fiddleford woke, eyes bleary from sleep, to find his captor leaning against the edge of the desk watching him. That morning’s plate of food still waited for him, and he slipped off the bed to grab it. The clanking and tug at his wrist that this caused had become familiar, and he simply maneuvered within the handcuff’s confines. Getting off the cot also meant leaving his blanket which had quickly become his only comfort in his predicament. And while he was getting used to the constant chill, he felt vulnerable and exposed under his captor’s gaze in only his boxers. 

“Do you mind,” Fiddleford grumbled, while picking at the provided toast. He kept his eyes down, locked on the plate in his lap.

The other man chuckled softly. “I wasn’t lyin’ the other night. You’re real nice to look at, and even nicer with so little on.”

Fiddleford startled at this, his head snapping up to assess the other man. Not only did his captor’s voice sound off, this was the first time he had made mention of the night he had picked Fiddleford up. With closer scrutiny Fiddleford realized the man outside the cage looked nothing like his captor. They had an uncanny physical resemblance, but this man was broader and carried more weight on his frame. His hands were missing the characteristic sixth finger. He also held himself differently, more laid back without a hungry intensity. And he was missing the glasses and tan coat Fiddleford had never seen his captor go without. 

“It’s my day off, and my brother is planning on spending the whole day out in the woods. Some samples he wanted to retrieve or somethin' like that. So it seemed like a good chance for the two of us to get to know each other some more. Ford also mentioned that you could use a wash.” The larger man finished, with a slight wrinkle to his nose. “He’s right you know, you’ve developed a pretty strong smell.”

Fiddleford’s mind reeled, his food completely forgotten. This man was Stan, the man from the bar. His captor was Stan’s brother, probably twin going by the resemblance. This explained so much. It also fanned Fiddleford’s waning hopes, he had been frustrated by his difficulties connecting with St… no… what had Stan called his brother?… Ford? But if Ford was a completely different person, maybe he still had a chance of making that connection with Stan. They had actually seemed to get on with one another at the bar. Maybe Stan could be convinced of how crazy this all was, maybe he could help Fiddleford escape. 

“Yes, well being handcuffed to cage doesn’t leave much of an opportunity to go to the spa.”  
Stan grinned as he levered himself off the desk. “There’s that feisty little fellow. You know Ford was starting to get worried, said you had gone awfully quiet and were sleeping a lot more. He was concerned you might not make it long enough for his first experiment. That happens sometimes. His specimens just, give up." Stan said, while he unlocked the cage door and ducked inside.

Stan pulled a small key for the handcuffs from his pocket. “You should probably finish the food, you know how Ford can be about the diets he crafts.” Stan said, as he moved to undo the cuff from the cage bar. 

Fiddleford smiled a little at this, excited to be free and to have someone who understood the eccentricities he had been putting up with for the last week. “Has he always cared that much about what everyone eats? Fiddleford asked between large bites of the toast. 

Stan shrugged, attaching the free cuff to Fiddleford’s other wrist when he finished eating. “He’s always been on me about how unhealthy I eat, even when we were kids. But the nerd takes one nutrition class or whatever in college and he suddenly thinks he has the key to prolongin’ all his victim’s lives.”

Fiddleford began to shiver at the casual reminder of his fate, his excitement about being unchained from the cage nearly forgotten.

“Ah geez, sorry man. You probably don’t want to think about that right now. I get it, I get it. If it makes you feel any better you’ll be contributing to some real genius level nerd shit.”

Fiddleford’s shivers turned into to full body shakes, and he felt hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I-I’ve got a family, I don’t w-want to be an experiment. I j-just want to go h-home.” 

“Hey, hey come here, Bean-pole. It’s alright, I get it you’re scared.” Stan sat on the cot next to Fiddleford pulling the taller man tight against his side. Fiddleford stiffened at the manhandling, but quickly melted into Stan. He buried his face in Stan’s shirt and began to sob. Stan rubbed soothing circles on Fiddleford’s bare back, muttering platitudes while the man cried himself out. 

When Fiddleford’s sobs had slowed, Stan shifted him off his side. He offered Fiddleford the cup of water that had been left with the breakfast. “Here you go, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Fiddleford felt emotionally exhausted and simply did as the other man told him. He drank the water and then allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. Stan gently dried the tears from his face, before leading him out of the cage. 

Fiddleford had to lean on Stan for most of the walk, his legs stiff from how little he had been using them the past week. He was so exhausted that he barely took in the portion of the lab they made their way through. Eventually Stan stopped them outside a door that had shower printed on it in block letters. 

“Do you think you can handle a shower by yourself or are you gonna to need my help?” Stan asked, as they entered the tiny room. It wasn’t much bigger than a walk in closet and was taken up almost entirely by the shower. A tiny sink took up the rest of one wall. 

Fiddleford shook his head and stepped away from Stan. He felt a small pang at the loss of contact. It had been long enough that Stan’s basic kindness was surprisingly comforting, even if Stan had caused his distress in the first place. Stan gave him a pleased grin and turned the shower on, letting the water warm up. 

“There you go, that should help you feel better. Take as long as you need in there.”

Fiddleford stripped out of his grubby boxers and stepped over the low lip of the shower. He was grateful that there was a curtain that Stan pulled around the cubby. He felt like he had been completely emotionally exposed to the man moments before, so the privacy was an amazing luxury. 

“I’ll be right outside, I’m gonna take care of some stuff so you don’t have to go back to a gross cage once you’re clean. Holler if you need anything.” 

Fiddleford barely registered Stan’s words or his lack of supervision. He was completely enthralled by the shower. He stood under the spray, head bowed and let his world narrow to the warm water pounding on him. 

He had no idea how long he simply stood there, but he was startled out of his reverie by hands gently pulling him away from the spray. Thick fingers began to gently massage his scalp, working shampoo into his grimy hair. Fiddleford leaned into the touch, eyes closing. The hands encouraged him back into the water when his hair had been fully washed. When he was once again moved out of the water he glanced to his side. The curtain had been opened and Stan was standing just outside the shower. He had removed his shirt and his torso glistened from the water droplets that had made their way onto his body. Fiddleford could just make out an impressive array of scars. Stan grinned when he noticed Fiddleford looking at him. 

“Sure you don’t need my help?” Stan asked, holding a bar of soap out to Fiddleford. Fiddleford responded by holding his still cuffed wrists up to the man, and letting a pleading expression fill his face. 

Stan chuckled and unlatched the cuffs, before passing Fiddleford the bar of soap. “There’s a good boy. You’re not gonna cause me any trouble now are you. Ford is such a worry wart.”

While Fiddleford made quick work of washing his body, his mind came back alive, whirling a mile a minute. He was uncuffed, if he was going to escape this was probably it, his only chance. His lack of clothes and shoes was troubling but he really couldn’t pass up the lack of restraints. 

He rinsed himself off and shut off the shower. He felt his body start to shiver again, in anticipation for what he planned on doing. He hoped that Stan mistook the shivers as simply due to the basement’s chill. When he turned around Stan was holding a towel for him and a clean pair of boxers. He dried himself off and pulled the boxers on. They fit him fairly well, a little long but much better than anything that belonged to the twins would have. He felt that icy feeling return when he realized the underwear probably came from some former victim.

“Hmmm that’s much better. I really wasn’t kiddin’ when I said I liked how you looked, and you look way better in those than the last guy did.” Stan said, looking the taller man over. Fiddleford had a nice flush all over his body from the warm water, and the dark boxers hugged his hips in an agreeable fashion. Stan crowded into Fiddleford’s space, and reached for the man’s thin wrists to reapply the handcuffs. 

Fiddleford felt something shoot from the icy pit in his stomach through the rest of his body. This was it, now or never. Before Stan could grab his wrists, he brought his knee up into the larger man’s groin. Stan staggered back with a roar of surprise. 

Fiddleford used the opportunity to throw a quick punch at Stan’s face, before making a break for the door. He ran as fast as he could in the direction he thought led back to the cage. His heart pounded, and he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of it in his ears. He wasn’t sure how well either of his hits had connected but he didn’t dare look back to see if Stan was chasing him. 

He skidded to a halt, looking around frantically. This deep into the lab everything looked pretty much the same, he desperately wished he had paid better attention when Stan had led him to the shower. He took a couple of deep gasps, attempting to catch his breath before taking off to his right. He had chosen correctly and saw the cages and desks up a head. His heart swelled, he never thought he would feel this happy to see that hated cage. 

He had made it a few steps past the cage when Stan’s larger body slammed into him from behind. The two men went careening to the ground, and Fiddleford lay underneath Stan dazed from the impact. 

"What the fuck man, what the actual fuck?" Stan shouted from his place atop Fiddleford. He glared at the prone man with a fierce intensity.


	4. Twisted Truths

When Fiddleford came to he was lying on his back. On the cot. In the cage.

Despair welled in him. What had he been thinking? His escape attempt had been foolhardy, had he really expected it to work? He had likely only succeeded in angering the brothers. 

Feeling sick to his stomach he attempted to curl up into a ball. Only to be stopped by a tug on both his wrists. A slight twist of his head showed him that now both his wrists were cuffed to the bars of the cage. His blanket was missing too. Fiddleford’s head dropped back and he closed his eyes. Trying to shut out the world around him, ignore the reality of his situation. He desperately wished to go back to sleep. At least in his dreams he could go home.

Despite his best attempts to ignore everything around him, he couldn’t help but hear two loud voices talking nearby.

“What were you thinking, Stanley?”

“I was thinking that there was no way that bean-pole would dare try somethin'. You shoulda seen him Ford. Right up until he hit me he could barely move, let alone rabbit like he did.”

Fiddleford’s eyes drifted open, though he tried to continue feigning sleep so as not to bring attention to himself. He found the two men at the desk. Stan sat on the edge of it, still missing his shirt, with his brother between his legs. Ford was treating a small cut and bruise on Stan’s cheek. Fiddleford took a small amount of pleasure at this, knowing that at least he had caused the other man some amount of pain.

Stan hissed. “Geez, Sixer. Be careful that hurt.”

“Good,” Ford said with a shake of his head “Maybe it’ll make you think twice next time, knucklehead. We would be in real trouble if he had actually gotten away.” Ford started to turn away from his brother, planning on checking their captive next. But he was stopped by Stan’s hand on his arm.

“What do you want Stanley? There isn’t much more I can do for your face.” Ford huffed, his irritation evident in his voice.

“Calm down Ford, I know what would happen if he got away. I won’t make the same mistake again. Now aren’t ya gonna kiss it to make it better?” Stan asked with slight pout.

“You’re ridiculous.” Ford replied his irritation melting away. He leaned forward to give his brother’s cheek a quick kiss. 

As soon as Ford’s lips parted from his cheek, Stan leaned in and captured them with his own lips. Fiddleford watched with horror as Ford deepened the kiss rather than pushing his brother away. 

“You know he hit me somewhere else too. A kiss would probably make that feel much better.” Stan said when he and Ford broke apart from their kiss, going as far as wiggling his eyebrows. 

Ford snorted, pushing his brother away from him. “You’re unbelievable, is that really all you can think about?”

“I think of plenty of other things too.” Stan protested, still sitting on the desk. He watched as Ford turned around to the cage. “Like places I could kiss on you. Or how good your ass looks in those pants. Or how to get you out of those pants.”

“Stanley,” Ford groaned, “those aren’t all that different. Only you could get this horny after a fight.” 

Ford opened the cage door and walked over to the side of the cot. He gave Fiddleford a brief once over before grabbing his arm and shaking it.

“Hey, come on now. I know you’re awake. I need to check you over, make sure there isn’t anything worse than the bruises.”

Fiddleford groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He pulled as far away from Ford’s grasp as his bonds would allow him. “Get away from me.”

Stan laughed. “See Sixer, I told you he still had spunk.”

Ford let out an exasperated sigh. He grabbed Fiddleford’s face, turning it back towards himself. “Don’t be like that, I don’t mind seeing you hurt, and it’s only what you deserve for trying to escape. But I am trying to make sure you’re okay.” He slowly applied pressure to the bruises Stan’s fist had left on Fiddleford’s face. 

Fiddleford’s eyes shot open with a gasp, a small whimper of pain escaping his lips. The scientist shined a light in Fiddleford’s eyes and checked him over. The man had gotten lucky. He had a sizable lump on his head and his face was pretty bruised, but he had missed out on a concussion. Most people who got Stan as riled up as he was came away looking much worse. 

Ford informed his captive of this, while he cleaned up the man’s face and applied some ointment that would help with the bruising. 

“Go fuck yourselves.” Fiddleford responded.

Ford frowned down at the man, while Stan crowed with laughter. Something had really gotten the man upset. He had seemed pretty timid up until now during their interactions. Maybe it was because of the failed escape attempt, the anger possibly his reaction to realizing how trapped he was. Or possibly it was what he had witnessed between the brothers. 

With his hand still firmly grasping the man’s face he looked him straight in the eyes, holding his gaze steady. “Is this attitude because you just saw my brother and I kiss?”

“You-You’re disgusting, both of you.” Fiddleford spit out. “And we all know what you’re gonna do to me. So why don’t you just get on with it. Kill me. Put me out my misery. Better than putting up with either of you pretending to care. Or having to watch you freaks.”

Fiddleford shook with the feelings that were overtaking him. He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying anymore. Impotent fury shook his whole body. He was trapped here, nothing he could do about it. Part of him hoped that if he provoked the other men enough they would just snap and kill him. Then he wouldn’t have to put up with whatever sick games they had planned for him. 

Ford could feel the man shaking under his hand. His words didn’t mean much to Ford, he was more interested in seeing how long the man could keep this up before he exhausted himself. His plans were interrupted by his brother. Stan had gotten off the desk and joined Ford and their captive in the cage at some point during Fiddleford’s outburst. 

“Listen here, you little fuck. Don’t you dare act like you’re better than us. You flirted with me that night in the bar. Pretty sure society is just as dismissive of people like you as they are of us. It’s no wonder your wife left you.” Stan sneered. 

Stan crowded up against Ford. Pulling him away from Fiddleford and pressing him against the nearby bars. He tugged his brother close for a second, much more heated kiss. Ford gasped against his brother, surprised by his ferocity and reaction to Fiddleford’s words. His mind tried to track back through the conversation, attempting to analyze the situation. But when Stan moved from his lips to his neck, his mind was left pleasantly blank. Ford gasped again when Stan roughly shoved his leg between his brother’s legs, giving Ford some much needed pressure against the growing tent in his trousers. The position also allowed him to feel his brother’s hardening erection against his own thigh. 

With his head free from Ford’s grasp, Fiddleford twisted it away from the brothers. Until he felt Stan’s heavy hand wrapping around his leg. His gaze was locked on Fiddleford even though he continued to rut against his brother. “Don’t fucking move, keep looking. Or I’ll make sure you can never run again.” Stan snarled. Fiddleford whimpered and nodded frantically when Stan squeezed his leg frighteningly tight.

Fiddleford watched as the two brother’s moved against each other. Stan seemed to know exactly how to touch his brother with hands and mouth to drive him wild. 

“That’s it Sixer, that’s it. Just like that. Gah, Ford you feel so good.” Stan praised, as Ford found a rhythm. 

“St-Stanley, Stan, please, I n-need…” Ford whimpered, all twelve fingers scrabbled at Stan’s back. His blunt nails left red marks down his brother’s bare back.

“Don’t worry Stanford, I’ve got you. I know what you need. I’ll take care of you. Always.” Stan promised, working Ford’s shirt further open and biting down hard on his skin.

Fiddleford stared as the brothers lost themselves to their movements. He wouldn’t have looked away even if Stan’s threat didn’t still hang over his head. He was disgusted knowing that the two men next to him were brothers, but the disgust also warred with lust. Stan hadn’t been wrong about him, but it had been a long time since he had even seen a man naked. Let alone watched two very attractive men get one another off. He mostly felt confused, angry at himself, and scared of the other men, all of his feelings mixing uncomfortably in his head. He shouldn’t have any feelings except hatred for the psychos who had essentially promised to kill him, and yet.

Ford came first, to Stan whispering in his ear. His body stiffening, and a muted shout falling from his lips, while his head fell back against the bars. Stan followed quickly after, muffling his own shout in his brother’s shoulder. The twins held each other while they rode out the aftershocks. Ford’s hands petted soothingly through Stan’s sweaty hair. “What was that all about, Stan? Hmmm? What got into you?”

Stan disentangled himself and his brother, grinning at Ford as he pulled away. “What can I say Sixer, you were right about this bean-pole really havin’ riled me up. Also that ass, in those pants, I just couldn’t help myself.”

Ford barely contained his sigh, shaking his head at his brother’s admission. “You couldn’t have waited for me to finish up down here and taken this upstairs? Now we’re both going to need to change. Plus you’ve probably broken the poor man’s brain.”

Stan glanced down at the bound man at their side. Fiddleford still had his eyes locked on the brothers unwilling to risk Stan’s anger by looking away. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about his brain breakin', Sixer. Honestly I think he probably enjoyed the show.” Stan stated, dropping his hand to pat at Fiddleford’s head the way one might pet a dog. 

Fiddleford huffed angrily at Stan’s statement, twisting as far away as the handcuffs allowed and pulling his legs towards his chest. He missed the blanket and the scant protection it provided. Stan just laughed at Fiddleford’s reaction.

“Hmmm, yes well I think its best if we leave him like this tonight. If he’s smart and learned his lesson about escaping, it should be enough reinforcement.” Ford sighed, his tone laced with disappointment. “And we should probably forego any more food today. I hate to mess with my nutrition plan, but he isn’t really giving us much of a choice.”

“Whatever you say, Ford,” Stan agreed. One of Stan’s hands came down and carefully traced the bruise on Fiddleford’s face, applying just enough pressure to make the man squirm. “Come on Bean-Pole, Ford and I are really tryin’ here. We don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. But if you keep acting out, our hands are tied.”

Fiddleford felt ill listening to the brothers’ talk. They both managed to sound so disappointed. As if this whole mess was his fault and not theirs. All he wanted was for them to leave so he could try to sort out his muddled thoughts and emotions. Or at least spend a few hours pretending he was home and safe. 

“I need to write some of this down, record any useful data.” Ford said, as he absentmindedly started looking for his journal. 

“You can write anything you want, Poindexter. After you come upstairs and change, and have dinner.” Stan said grabbing his brother’s arm and dragging him away from the desk. But not before Ford managed to snag his journal and pen. 

Fiddleford was left alone in the basement. All he could do was shiver as their voices faded down the hallway. Barely staying afloat as his whirling thoughts dragged him under.


	5. The Doctor Will See You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look two chapters in one day. I wanted to get these out over the last few days but it turns out drunken revelry and a precariously perched router don't mix well. So now that we found enough duct tape to fix the wifi, I'm back in business.

The next morning Fiddleford was graced with both brothers’ presence once again. He tried his best to ignore them, hoping for a day to recover from yesterday’s excitement. But no such luck.

“Stanley could you get him ready for me. I’m going to go prepare my work space.” Ford said heading deeper into the lab

“Sure thing, Sixer.” Stan called after his brother. Stan rattled the cage by Fiddleford’s head. “Come on Bean-Pole, up and at ‘em. It’s your lucky day.” 

Fiddleford glared up at him. “You’re letting me go?” He asked tiredly. 

He had found it difficult to sleep last night. Chained the way he was left little room for movement. His empty stomach had ached all night and without the blanket he had gotten quite cold. He actually found that losing the blanket bothered him more than the extra restraints. The warmth and modesty it offered had become his only security in this messed up situation. 

Stan laughed as he entered the cage. “You know that’s why I like you. You’ve got a real sense of humor.” He said continuing to chuckle. “But no. Your little escape attempt reminded my brother that he wanted to run some tests on you.”

Fiddleford felt sick at this news. He had been an idiot yesterday, and now he was going to pay for his mistakes. He didn’t want to think about what his captors likely had in store for him. 

Stan moved to Fiddleford’s feet, and the captive man briefly considering kicking him. But a large hand wrapped around Fiddleford’s knee quelled any action before he could take it. 

"Look Bean-Pole, I don’t want to hurt you. But if you pull a stunt like the one from yesterday again, I won’t have any choice but to punish you. And neither of us want that.” Stan said, while gazing earnestly at Fiddleford. His grip tightened on Fiddleford’s knee. “Now do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Fiddleford murmured, glancing away from Stan. He hated how Stan was making the whole thing out like it was his fault. The brothers had done the same thing last night, and here Stan was doing it again. 

Just because he had been stupid enough to fall for Stan’s trap and not quick enough to get away, didn’t mean Stan hadn’t made the choice to abduct him or hit him yesterday. He was trying desperately to hang onto that fact, but sometime during the night his thoughts had begun to drift traitorously towards the brothers’ way of thinking. Fiddleford couldn’t control their actions, but he could control his own. And his captors seemed to be promising a degree of predictability in how they would react. 

A small amount of good behavior might improve his chances of escaping, if he could get his captors to become lenient enough. At the very least it would improve his immediate living conditions. 

“Great, well I’ve got some more jewelry for you.” Stan joked, as he attached leg cuffs to Fiddleford’s ankles. “Just to help discourage anything like yesterday’s little commotion again.”

Fiddleford lay still while Stan worked on releasing him from the cage. His head still hurt from yesterday’s escape attempt. A throbbing reminder of what Stan was capable of. A further reminder came from a hand resting on weak points on Fiddleford's body anytime Stan had him more unsecured than not. 

In no time at all Fiddleford was up from his cot. His hands were cuffed in front of him, and ankles secured just enough to allow him to walk. Stan marched him out of the cage and deeper into the lab, chattering the whole time.

“Have you got a nickname? Something your friends or family call ya?” Stan asked as they walked. “Fiddleford is such a mouth full.”

“No,” Fiddleford responded. It wasn’t entirely true. But he didn’t have many nicknames, and he had no interest in either of his captors calling him anything his family did.

“Really? That’s a shame. Do you want a nickname?”

“I thought that was what Bean-Pole was.” Fiddleford said flatly. He really couldn’t figure Stan out. And he had no idea where this particular conversation was going. One moment the man was happy go lucky and friendly. The next he was threatening Fiddleford or causally discussing his brother’s plans for the man. 

“Pft you can never have enough nicknames. And with a name like Fiddleford I can’t imagine not wanting them.” Stan said. “Let me think for a minute. Uhm what about Fidds? How does that sound?”

Fiddleford shrugged. He didn’t care what the man called him, and it wasn’t like he had any actual say in what happened. Might as well play along and see where it got him.

“Great it’s settled then, Fidds it is. So Fidds what’s your favorite movie?”

Fiddleford was almost grateful when they finally reached a medical examination table, it at least meant Stan stopped talking. He vaguely remembered seeing the table during his mad dash through the lab the day before. Ford was waiting for them there. He had custom rubber gloves on, his journal and tools were laid out on a nearby table for when he needed them. 

“Here’s your subject, Dr. Pines.” Stanley said, grinning at his brother.

“Excellent. Thank you, Stanley. If you would like to take a seat on the table we’ll get started.” Ford said addressing Fiddleford with the last comment. 

Fiddleford silently did as he was asked. The heavy presence of Stan’s hand on his shoulder reminding him that he had no choice in the matter. 

“I suppose I should introduce myself, my name is Stanford Pines. Though you’re welcome to call me Ford. Stanley informed me of the mix up yesterday. You shouldn’t feel bad, we’re nearly identical it happens all the time.” Stanford said, putting his hand out to shake. 

“Fiddleford McGucket,” Fiddleford replied hollowly. He shook the offered hand gingerly, while the handcuffs clinked. He wasn’t sure why either of them were doing this. They were just going through the motions, but he played along regardless. His new line of reasoning told him there was no benefit to upsetting the man over something as trivial as a handshake. 

“Now this will just be a basic physical, like any checkup you might receive. As I mentioned a few days ago any medical history you can share will provide me with a better baseline.” With that Stanford started the exam.

Fiddleford sat quietly, following any prompting by Ford without a word. Ford had been correct about it being no different than a basic checkup. If Fiddleford ignored Stan’s looming presence, he could almost imagine himself in his doctor’s office. He let that fantasy take over, allowing it to calm his nerves. He imagined that once this was all done he would be able to leave. Head home to his wife and kid, with maybe only a shot to show for his troubles.

“Could you describe the most painful thing you’ve experienced?” 

“I broke my arm as a boy.” Fiddleford replied continuing to indulge in the fantasy. He was seeing a new doctor, they were filling out his chart. All basic and normal information that would help them treat him better.

“Which arm? How did it happen?”

“Left arm, compound fractures of the ulna and radius. I fell out of a tree on my grandparents’ farm when I was ten.” Fiddleford said wincing at the memory. It had been a bad break, and with both bones broken it had taken awhile for it to heal.

“Have you broken anything else?”

“I fractured a toe in college. I stubbed it really badly after coming home from a party. I was trying to find my way around my apartment in the dark.”

They continued through the exam, Fiddleford was honestly pretty impressed by the thoroughness of it. Had he had his tonsils removed? Check. Wisdom teeth removed? Check. Childhood illnesses, chicken pox, mumps, measles? All had or vaccinated for. No regular medication. Glasses, for reading only. No allergies or reactions to any medications taken to date. His reactions were tested, and his eyes and ears were looked over. It was pretty much the works.

Stanford even removed the handcuffs from Fiddleford’s wrists and treated the skin there. Stanley provided a constant pressure on Fiddleford’s shoulder to remind him not to try anything. But the cool cream Ford applied to the raw skin of Fiddleford’s wrist felt too good for him to want to risk it. 

“Alright, well I think that about wraps up the basics. We’ll move onto stimulus reaction next.” Stanford said, after securing Fiddleford’s left hand to the side of the table with the handcuffs. “I’m going to cut you in a few places with and without local anesthetic and measure your responses. I’ll also track the healing process over the next couple of days.”

“What?” Fiddleford said with a strangled gasp. His fantasy completely shattered. The reality of his captivity and status as Stanford’s lab rat came rushing back to him. He started to shiver, and looked around frantically for something that might help him. 

“Wow easy there, Fidds. Calm down.” Stan said putting a hand heavily on Fiddleford’s shoulder. He applied just enough pressure to gently restrain the other man, not wanting him to accidently hurt himself in his panic. 

“You were doing so well. We only need to get through a little bit more.” Stanford chided. He hardly looked up from his journal where he was recording the details from the examination. 

“Hear that Bean-Pole, you’ve been doin’ such a good job. Just relax and behave for Ford a little bit longer. And then maybe we can get you a treat.” 

“Cou-could I have my blanket back?”

The question was unexpected. The brothers glanced at one another, Stanford shrugged. 

“Sure, sure thing Fidds. If that would make you feel better, we can grab it as soon as we’re done here.” Stan said soothingly. 

“O-okay,” Fiddleford said. He knew he was pretty well trapped at the moment between the various cuffs and both brothers being in the room. This was going to happen regardless of his feelings on the matter. But if he could at least get something out of the situation that he wanted he would consider it a win.

“What exactly are you going to do?” Fiddleford asked, trying to get his voice to sound steadier than he felt. 

The brothers were again startled by the question. Who knew something as simple as promising the man a blanket would cause such as change in attitude. 

“I’m going to cut your legs in a couple of different places, at varying depths and lengths. I’ll do one leg with local anesthetic and then perform the same incisions on the other leg but without the anesthetic.” Stanford explained. He could always talk about his experiments, it was just so unusual for his test subject to be interested in his methods. “Do you have any preference for which leg I do what to?”

“No, random is probably better. You wouldn’t want to introduce any bias into the experimental design” Fiddleford replied. 

The offer had really just been reflexive politeness on Ford’s part. But Fiddleford appreciated the illusion of control the choice gave him. And Ford was pleased to have someone who actually seemed interested and knowledgeable about his science. 

“You’ve mentioned college a few times. What did you get your degree in?” Ford asked while he got his materials prepped. He was genuinely curious about the other man’s background.

“Engineering, and then I specialized in computer science for my graduate work.”

Ford nodded, filing the information away for his future explanations. The man had a background in the sciences so he would likely understand the basic principles. But he may not have as good a grasp on the more intricate biologic principles Stanford relied on. 

“Computers huh, you ever worried those things will go full on Hal or Colossus?” Stan asked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. 

He was glad to see the other two men nerding out together. He enjoyed watching Ford work and could listen to him talk about his experiments for hours. But he never been very good at following all the nuances that went into Ford’s thinking. It would be good for Ford to have someone who understood those details, even if it was only for a little while.

Fiddleford chuckled, the conversation was helping him relax and regain his fantasy. The doctors need to perform a special treatment, that was all. A few incisions and it would be all over. A bit worse than the original shot, but nothing he couldn’t handle. 

“Computers are only as smart as we make them, I’m not worried about them taking over any time soon. I’ve been working on personal computers. Portability, that’s where I think the future is.”

“That would be useful. Computers are revolutionizing many fields, but portability would make them invaluable.” Stanford said, thinking about the implications that would have on his own work. 

“That’s the goal,” Fiddleford agreed. He tensed as he felt the cold tingle of Ford cleaning and applying the anesthetic to his right thigh. 

“Wh-what about you? You’ve a doctorate, what is your degree in?” He asked trying to keep the conversation going and maintain his own calm.

“Oh well my undergraduate work was in biology and physics. And then I got two PhDs, one in zoology and the other in theoretical physics.” Stanford said, his scalpel making precise cuts along Fiddleford’s leg. “Where did you go to school?”

“West Coast Tech,” Fiddleford hissed between gritted teeth. The anesthetic numbed the sensation coming from his leg, but he could still see what was going on. And his mind was perfectly capable of supplying sensations as his skin was split open. 

Both brothers perked up at Fiddleford’s response. Ford had had a shot at a scholarship to that school, until the Incident. He still considered it the one that got away. Even if he had gotten an excellent education at the institutions he had attended. 

“How was it?” Stan asked. He still stood at Fiddleford’s shoulder. His hand continued to apply a constant pressure that prevented the taller man from jerking too much while Ford worked. 

Ford was also curious but had become absorbed in the blood welling from the cuts on Fiddleford’s leg. He was gauging their captive’s physical responses and the blood flow from the wounds. 

“It was fine. I had a scholarship, family couldn’t afforded it any other way. A lot kids there had more money than brains. Those trust fund kids knew how to throw a party though, some of them got pretty wild.” Fiddleford said with a grimace. “What about you?”

“Ford did his undergrad at Backupsmore. Then did his grad work at some fancy California school.” Stan answered, knowing that Ford had become too absorbed in his activities to respond despite still listening. “And I got my honorary degree from the school of hard knocks while making money to fund Ford’s college.”

Fiddleford hummed. Ford had moved onto his other leg and the pain from the unnumbed cuts made it difficult to talk. 

The rest of the operation was completed in relative silence. Only broken by Ford’s mutterings or Fiddleford’s occasional whimper of pain. Once the bleeding had slowed and Ford had finished his recordings, he gently treated the wounds. He applied bandages that would keep the wounds clean, but be easy to remove so he could observe the healing process. 

With everything cleaned up the brothers helped their captive back to the cage. Fiddleford was shaky, and the cuts on his legs twinged with each step he took. The brothers were gentle with him. Fiddleford would have described it as caring if they hadn’t been the cause of his hurts. 

They lowered him onto the cot and Ford took off to find the blanket while Stan secured one end of the leg cuff to Fiddleford’s ankle and the other to the leg of the cot. He left Fiddleford’s arms unsecured. When Ford returned he had the blanket along with a plate of food. Stan draped the blanket around Fiddleford’s shoulders. The taller man instantly wrapped himself up in it, hunching over a bit to bury his nose in the edge, inhaling its clean scent.

Ford passed the plate of food to Stan who sat next to their captive on the cot. He rubbed soothing circles on Fiddleford’s back through the blanket until Fiddleford relaxed enough to take the plate. Ford had made a sandwich and Fiddleford dug into it with gusto.

“Let me know when the anesthetic wears off, okay? And if you experience any extra discomfort or signs of infection from any of the cuts alert me immediately.” Ford said as Fiddleford worked his way through the apple and chips that were also on the plate. 

As soon as Fiddleford nodded, Ford headed off into the lab to work on his other projects. Stan stayed by Fiddleford’s side until he had cleared his plate. Fiddleford passed it back to him when he finished. 

“You did good today, Bean-Pole.” Stan said as he stood to leave. One large hand came down and ruffled Fiddleford’s hair. “We’ll leave the cuffs off for now, give your wrists a chance to heal up. And who knows keep up the good behavior and maybe we’ll leave them off.” 

Fiddleford watched the other man go, marveling at the freedom the longer chain of the leg cuff allowed him. There might actually be something to this playing along tactic. He could move much further away from the cot now. Although the cuts on his legs made it painful to get up. For now he just planned on curling up and enjoying the return of the warmth and safety of the blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hal and Colossus are both sentient supercomputers from late 60s, early 70s movies. 2001: A Space Odyssey and Colossus: The Forbin Project respectively.


	6. Change of Pace

Ford’s attention to Fiddleford over the next couple of days quickly became annoying. The first twenty four hours after his exam, Ford checked on him every few hours even in the middle of the night. 

“Do you ever sleep?” Fiddleford asked muzzily after being woken for the second time. He swatted uselessly at the man hovering above him. 

“Not if I can help it. And I try to limit it to cat naps if I absolutely need to,” Stanford replied. Fiddleford begrudgingly moved the blanket and sat up so Ford could inspect the cuts. 

“You know that’s not good for you. You should leave me alone and try getting some actual sleep.” Fiddleford said with a yawn. He screwed his eyes up against the bright lights of the lab that Ford had turned on. The ones near his cage normally cycled to a dimmer setting at night allowing him to sleep. 

“You sound like Stan,” Ford said with a huff. “These are looking good, no sign of infection.”

“Stan is a smart man,” Fiddleford quipped back. “Huzzah, it would have been a real shame if I got gangrene or something from these completely avoidable wounds.”

Ford chuckled, his hand threading through the sitting man’s hair. Catching a handful of it he tilted Fiddleford’s face up to look at his own. “That would be a real shame, then we would have to amputate.”

Fiddleford stared up at the other man for a few moments in horror. Than Ford grinned and ruffled Fiddleford’s hair, causing Fiddleford to realize that that had been the man’s attempt at a joke. 

“So I should expect you in a few hours then?” Fiddleford called out as Ford turned to leave. A nod was all Fiddleford got for confirmation, as Ford became absorbed in the next project. 

“Great, it’s a date,” Fiddleford grumbled, burrowing back into the blanket’s warmth.

\---

The second day Ford cut his visits down to every six hours, and by the third he only checked in twice. He had also switched to simple verbal check ins. Letting Fiddleford report his own condition. He would occasionally glance in through the bars if he wanted to confirm anything.

\---

On the fourth day Fiddleford was looking forward to things going back to normal. Although he was afraid of what Ford had in store for him next. He hoped that he would at least get a few days of reprieve. The shallowest of the cuts were almost completely healed and he could move around pretty comfortably without the deeper ones causing him much pain.

However it seemed his captors had other plans. Not long after breakfast both brothers came into the lab, running about helter-skelter. Fiddleford immediately perked up wondering what had gotten them so agitated. 

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to observe this event, Stan. I can’t miss it.” Ford babbled, while he haphazardly filled a rucksack. 

“I thought you said this thing happens every twenty years, Poindexter.” Stan replied, pausing the packing of his own rucksack to throw his brother a perplexed look. 

“Who knows what will be happening in twenty years Stan, I can’t waste this chance. Could you make sure Fiddleford has enough food while we’re gone?” Ford asked. He didn’t even wait for Stan’s response before dashing off into the lab.

“He’s your pet, Sixer. You should be the one taking care of him.” Stan shouted after his brother. Grumbling Stan headed the other way down the hall to the rest of the house. 

He returned quickly with half a loaf of bread, a few apples, a plastic cup, and a full bucket of water. He tossed the food to Fiddleford and left the bucket outside the cage next to the cot. 

“What’s going on?” Fiddleford asked his curiosity overcoming his irritation at Stan’s comment. 

“There’s some alignment or another occurring. A gate opening blah blah blah. Sixer’s only shot at seeing some mystical event.” Stan replied with a shrug. “Don’t eat all that at once. We shouldn’t be gone long, overnight tops, but I wouldn’t want you to run out of food.” 

Excitement bubbled in Fiddleford as he watched the brothers prepare. If they were both going to be gone and he could manage to get out of the cage, he would have a real shot at escaping. The brothers were just about to leave when Stan turned back around.

“Hang on, real quick gimme your wrist.” Stan said. 

Fiddleford extended his wrist towards Stan, for it to be grabbed and cuffed to the cage bar again. 

“Just in case you were thinking of trying any funny business.” Stan said, looking Fiddleford in the eye. 

“We’ll be back no later than tomorrow. And if you aren’t here when we get back remember that we have a good idea of where you live. We’ll hunt you down, and it won’t be just you that’s in trouble.”  
Fiddleford gulped, and nodded in understanding.

“Alrighty, well wish us luck. Sooner we’re gone, sooner we’re back.” Stan said cheerfully, following Ford out of the lab. “Have fun.”

“Good luck,” Fiddleford got out in a choked whisper. He listened intently as the brothers’ heavy footsteps faded down the hall. 

He spent the rest of the day fidgeting nervously around the cage. His movements were once again limited by the handcuffs, but he had plenty of time to inspect his restraints. He eventually decided that he could break the leg cuff’s chain with the right torque. The handcuffs had him pretty stumped. But he was pretty sure he could break them with the right torque as well, as long as he didn’t mind what happened to his hand. That only left the cage door. But with enough time and the pieces from his restraints he could probably rig something to open the cage. 

Once he had his plan, he debated back and forth whether to enact it. He decided to wait things out. He ate sparingly from his food, and used the cup to dip some water from the bucket, finally turning in early. Stan had promised they would be back tomorrow anyway. He’d spent enough time thinking, that it would be just his luck that once he got himself out he would run into the brothers returning.

The next morning did not come quickly, Fiddleford tossed and turned all night. He spent the second day poised, eyes locked on the hallway the brothers usually came through. He expected them to walk through it at any moment. The later it got the more anxious he got. Should he try and escape? Had he had the time and wasted it? Maybe they were just delayed and his early fears would still come true if he tried anything.  
The lights dimmed, giving Fiddleford his only clue to the lateness of the hour. But he continued to wait up, certain the brothers would come in at any moment. 

The third morning found Fiddleford slumped uncomfortably, he had fallen asleep sitting up on the cot. He was really anxious now, this was way longer than Stan had promised they would be gone. He found himself worried about the brothers’ safety. How badly must they be hurt to be delayed this long? 

He needed to try escape, this was the best chances he was going to get. But he still managed to talk himself out of it. Stan’s threat floated through his head every time he started prepping himself to break the chains.  
What if this whole thing was a test? What if the brothers were already back, just waiting upstairs to see what Fiddleford did? 

Fiddleford was a bit shocked by his own paranoia. At the same time his captors were unpredictable, and he honestly wouldn’t put it pass them.

Fiddleford guessed it was early afternoon on the third day when he stopped fretting long enough to eat. His food and water supplies were getting low. He had been trying to ration them, but at the same time what he had been given had not been meant to last him this long. 

That clinched it, he would give them a few more hours, but then he was going to have to try and escape. Even if it was only to find more food. He was pretty sure if the twins did return at that point they would understand his rationale. 

Fiddleford was in the process of psyching himself up. There was a good chance he was going to break something doing this, and he was not looking forward to that pain, when he heard voices from the hallway. He let out a huge breath, deflating, while relief coursed through his veins. 

The twins soon came into view, they leaned heavily on one another. Stan looked especially battered. His shirt was ruined, torn in a few places and covered in a few blood stains. Ford was limping and sporting his own collection of cuts and bruises. Stan dropped his brother into the chair at the desk.

“Where’d you say the first aid kit was, Sixer?” Stan asked thickly. He was obviously tired and the crookedness of his nose made Fiddleford suspect it might be broken.

“In the other room, on the left wall,” Ford replied sounding just as tired. He tugged at his pant leg, revealing a serious gash on his left calf that was sluggishly leaking blood. 

“What happened?” Fiddleford asked anxiously. 

Both brothers startled at the sound of his voice. They turned to look at him, Ford from the desk and Stan pausing as he reentered the room.

“Oh good your still here. Worried about us Bean-pole?” Stan asked a small smile twisting his lips before his gaze latched onto his brother’s leg. “Christ, Sixer. Is that bleeding again?”

Stan moved to his brother’s side. Kneeling down he began to cut off the pant leg using scissors from the first aid kit.

“I think the blade may have been coated with something to prevent the wound from healing.” 

“You’ve been poisoned?” Stan squawked. 

“No need to be dramatic about it.” Ford responded with a frown. “I don’t feel anything else, so I think it only has local effects.”

“Okaaay, yeah sure not gonna freak out about that, whatever. So what do I need to treat it?”

“There is some thread in the first aid kit, it’s spun from unicorn hair and treated with a potion. Use it to stitch up the wounds and it should counteract whatever is keeping it open.” Ford answered tiredly, his head tipping back to rest on the back of the chair. 

“Woah, Sixer, don’t do that. Keep your eyes open for me, keep talking. You can’t sleep yet, I need to make sure we get all these treated correctly.” Stan growled attempting to shake his brother while simultaneously trying to thread a needle with the unicorn hair.

“Christ, I need another pair of hands, if I’m gonna get us both patched up anytime soon.” Stan mumbled mostly to himself. 

“I could help,” Fiddleford offered. He was standing, watching the brothers as best as he could within the confines of the restraints. 

Stan glanced over at Fiddleford. “Really? And why would you do that?”

“What does it matter? You need the help, and I’m offering.” Fiddleford wasn't sure of his motives. He couldn't really justify this offer entirely with the play along attitude he had adopted. And he really he didn't want to dwell on any other motives right now. 

“I can’t really argue with that. Any experience with first aid?” Stan replied with a sigh. He opened the cage and undid Fiddleford’s restraints. He led the other man out and attached the free leg cuff to the leg of the desk. 

"I've had a couple of training courses. I don't think I can do stitches though. Your nose is messed up.”

“Thanks I hadn’t noticed,” Stan grunted. “Thread this needle for me then, and try and keep Ford awake. Talking would be best.”

Fiddleford quickly set the needle up for Stan, passing it down to where the man was again kneeling. He then grabbed a clean cloth and antiseptic and reached gingerly towards Ford’s face. Ford’s eyes snapped open before Fiddleford could touch him. He jerked away from Fiddleford’s hands as much as the chair would allow.

“Easy, easy,” Fiddleford soothed, talking how he would to an injured animal or when his kid got hurt. “I’m just going to clean up some of these scratches, make sure they don’t get infected. How did this happen?”

Ford relaxed, letting Fiddleford start working to clean the cuts on his face. He winced once, Fiddleford glanced down confirming that Stan had started sewing the gash on Ford’s leg. 

“Elves. We were hunting for elves. Jupiter and Saturn aligned for the third time this year this week. That along with some specific environmental conditions being met allows a gateway to be opened between our dimension and theirs. They celebrate the occasion with a festival.”

“And they apparently take major offense to two humans gate crashing their party.” Stan quipped bitterly from the floor.

“Yes, I did not account for how upset they would be at our presence.” Ford said with a sigh.

“Or how they would react to you trying to swipe some of their food and drink,” Stan said with a growl. “Next time you wanna steal something, maybe give your brother who actually has a criminal record a heads up.”

“I wanted to test the compounds found in the food, see if they were related to compounds found in our reality.” Ford replied defensively.

“I know, Sixer. And we made it out alive, so no harm, no foul.” Stan placated. He stood up with a grunt, his back giving an audible pop. “Alright, that’s as good as it’s gonna get. Hopefully your magic stitches do the trick, Poindexter.”

Stan stripped out of his ruined shirt, and sat heavily on the edge of the desk. He rooted around in the first aid kit pulling some gauze out and started wrapping his own wounds.

Ford gave Fiddleford a light shove in Stan’s direction. “I’m fine. You’ve already taken care of the worst of my injuries. And Stan is too stubborn to ask for help, even though he is going to need it with more than a few of those.”

Fiddleford moved to Stan’s side and batted his hands away taking over caring for the various wounds Stan had received. Despite the severity of the gash on Ford’s leg, Stan looked to have taken the brunt of the attack on the brothers. This close Fiddleford was also able to observe the impressive collection of scars that littered Stan’s skin. Most of them looked like they came activities like this one. Mostly long healed cuts and gashes. But some of them had the distinct look of burn marks. And a few on Stan’s back could have only come from particularly severe beatings. 

“I’ll get some ice, you’re going to need it for your nose.” Ford said, levering himself from the chair. He limped slowly down the hallway. 

“You shouldn’t be--” Stan began. “Whatever, you better not pull a stitch,” he finished with a sigh.

“You’re good at this. Much gentler than Ford,” Stan said. While Fiddleford kept working his way up Stan’s body. Fiddleford felt something warm settle in his chest from the praise.

“Thanks,” Fiddleford whispered. He suddenly felt very self-conscious standing between the shirtless man’s legs in only boxers.

Ford returned with a bag of ice, just as Fiddleford finished putting a butterfly bandage on the last cut above Stan’s eye. He was moving slowly but didn’t seem to be in too much pain. Ford had also brought a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

“Take these,” he said shoving the pills and water into Stan’s hands. “Then lay down, this is probably going to hurt.”

Fiddleford shuffled off to the side, as far as the leg restraint would allow him. Ford cleared as many of the papers off his desk while his brother downed the pills. Then Stan laid down on the desk, looking up at his brother. 

“Just make it quick, okay?”

“Of course, Stan. As quick as I can.” Ford agreed, settling his hands over his brother’s face. 

For a moment all three of them simply breathed, before Ford’s hands moved deftly. Stan’s nose made a sickening cracking noise. He howled in pain and shot upright. 

"It wasn't broken, but you'll want to keep the ice on it tonight." Ford said, while handing his brother the bag of ice. Stan whimpered gratefully as he gently applied the ice to his aching nose. 

“Time for you to go back,” Ford said addressing Fiddleford.

“Oh, right,” Fiddleford replied. He had been enjoying just being out with the twins. He may still be chained up, but it had been the first time he had felt like a person rather than an experiment.

They moved slowly back to the cage and cot, due to Ford’s leg. Fiddleford briefly considered using the other men's injuries to his advantage now that his concern for their immediate well-being had abated. But they were both watching him carefully. And he suspected that even as hurt as Stan was he could still do quite a bit of damage. 

Once Fiddleford’s leg was again chained to the cot, Ford made his way back to Stan’s side. The brothers again leaned on one another and made their way slowly upstairs. 

Before they left the room Fiddleford said a quick good night before his brain could stop him.

“Night Fidds,” Ford replied.

“Yeah, ‘preciate the help Bean-pole.” Stan said, his words muffled by the bag of ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Jupiter and Saturn really did have a triple conjunction in 1981, which is ballpark when this story is set.  
> Seasonal Fun Fact: Their alignment is also a possible explanation for the Star of Bethlehem, since a triple conjunction occurred around the birth of Christ. Other theories include comets and supernovas.


	7. The Next Level

Fiddleford was pretty much left alone the next couple of days. Food was still dropped off, and Ford still came down into the lab. But he was usually followed by Stan not long after, and dragged back upstairs. 

Being left alone for so long was starting to make Fiddleford antsy. He found it kind of ironic what time could do to you. Just a handful of days ago he wanted nothing more than for the brothers to leave him be. Now he would do anything for their company. They may have kidnapped him, and they may have planned to kill him. Probably still were come to think of it, but Fiddleford found he actually liked them when they weren’t actively hurting him. 

These thoughts explained the jolt of excitement Fiddleford had when he woke on the third day and saw Stan leaning against the inside of the cage. Stan still looked pretty beaten up, but all the wounds Fiddleford could see looked to be healing well. 

“Hey how’s it going?” Fiddleford asked, while making quick work of the breakfast Stan had brought.

“Pretty good actually. Mostly thanks to you,” Stan replied. “Ford’s leg is taking its sweet time healing. He thinks that’s cause of the poison. But I let him come down here today to do some work, as long as I was also down here to supervise. Figured you could use another shower and I could multitask keepin' an eye on the two of you.”

“I would really appreciate that,” Fiddleford said. He was feeling grubby after the last week. And being left to stew in his own smell the last few days had made him quite aware of it. 

Stan recuffed Fiddleford's wrists and swapped the leg cuff from the cot to Fiddleford's other leg. The two men then made their way to the shower. Fiddleford did his best to pay attention to the route this time. 

While they walked they chatted. Stan mostly complained about how annoying babysitting injured Ford had been. Fiddleford told Stan how bored he had gotten being left alone. He went as far as recounting all the thrilling things he managed to do over the course of a typical hour. Which was to say not much.

Stan laughed at Fiddleford’s description. “How’s this, if you’re really good today I’ll see about finding you a book or somethin',” Stan offered. 

When they reached the small bathroom, Stan leaned casually against the wall.

"Well hop to it, we don't got all day." He said with a mocking grin. 

Fiddleford glanced at the man, then his restraints, and finally the shower. He tried to come up with a way of it working but was stumped.

"Any chance I might be able to convince you to remove some of this?" Fiddleford asked, offering his cuffed wrists to Stan.

"Whatta you think?" Stan asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Though if you ask real nicely I might be convinced to give you a hand."

Fiddleford debated for a few more seconds. They both knew he didn't have a choice but doing it on his own time gave Fiddleford a semblance of control. He chose his words carefully, hoping to say what Stan wanted to hear.

"Stan, could you help me with the shower, please?"

A pleasant feeling shot through his body when Stan grinned. He'd gotten it right.

"Sure thing, Bean-Pole." He said, while crowding into Fiddleford's space to unlatch one of the leg cuffs. 

In no time Fiddleford was divested of his boxers, recuffed, and standing under the hot shower's spray. He let out a deep groan as he felt the hot water massage at his head and back. He was pretty touch starved at this point and he could feel every water droplet dancing on his skin. 

"If you think that feels good, just wait until I get my hands on you," Stan said.

He hadn't been kidding. As soon as Fiddleford felt Stan's thick fingers working shampoo into his hair his knees almost gave out. He spent the rest of the shower in blissed out ecstasy. Eyes closed, letting Stan manhandle him as needed to clean his whole body.

Fiddleford whined when Stan finally drew away. Stan chuckled. "I think you'll probably want to take care the rest of that on your own."

Fiddleford's eyes shot open. He followed Stan's gaze down his body to where his cock had hardened between his legs. He'd gotten an erection, oh god how could his body betray him like this he thought. Fiddleford flushed with embarrassment and moved his shackled hands to hide it.

"Nothin' to be ashamed of. Go ahead and take care of it." Stan said his voice going gravelly. And when Fiddleford made eye contact with him he was grinning. He was shirtless again, damp from helping Fiddleford. 

He grasped the base of his cock with shaky hands. Gasping at his own touch. The handcuffs made things more difficult and he felt wildly oversensitized

“Easy, easy," Stan coaxed over the sound of the falling water. "You haven't forgotten how to jack it in the shower, have you Fidds?"

Fiddleford let out a pathetic whine, finding and losing his rhythm again and again. "Stan, please," he whimpered.

Stan's voice floated roughly through the small room talking Fiddleford gently through each action. With Stan's voice to focus on Fiddleford was able to overcome the oversensitization and pick up a solid rhythm. He quickly climaxed, almost collapsing under the warm water. 

Strong arms caught him before he could sag all the way to the floor. He was held under the water long enough to be rinsed off before being helped into the small room. Stan set him gently on an overturned bucket in the corner. The water turned off and then Stan was back gently patting Fiddleford dry. 

Fiddleford came back to his senses just as Stan was offering him a clean pair of boxers. He wiggled into them before collapsing back onto the bucket, his legs felt like jello.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Stan said with a cheerful grin. "You put on quite the show."

One glance at Stan and the slight tent in his trouser was all that it took to tell that he really had enjoyed the show. Fiddleford flushed with embarrassment and something else. Not wanting to dwell on the feelings, he quickly changed the subject.

"Do you think we could do something about my beard?" Fiddleford asked, looking anywhere but directly at Stan. His beard had become quite full during his captivity. 

Stan grinned like Fiddleford was a particularly clever dog who had performed a trick. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted the thing cleaned up. I can trim your hair to."

"That would be nice."

Stan grabbed a kit that had been sitting on the small sink. Setting out the different tools he would need. 

"You know I was planning on doing this for you last time, but somebody had other ideas." Stan chided while he used clippers to trim Fiddleford's beard and bangs. 

Fiddleford shivered, he was feeling nervous with Stan wielding sharp implements so close to his face. Stan's teasing wasn't helping either. When Stan finally finished prepping Fiddleford and pulled out a straight razor, the taller man’s shaking had become too much for Stan to continue. He put a heavy hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder, hoping to help ground the other man. 

“Hey, easy there. Calm down, what’s the matter?” Stan asked gently, trying not to spook Fiddleford more. 

“I d-don’t want it to h-hurt again.” Fiddleford admitted in a tiny whisper, once again unable to look at Stan. 

“Well no problem there, Fidds. You know I don’t want to hurt you,” Stan said, catching Fiddleford’s chin and tilting his face up. “I only have to hurt you when you do something wrong, when you deserve it. You haven’t done anything wrong, have you Fidds?”

“N-no,” Fiddleford manage to stutter out, he felt trapped under Stan’s gaze. 

“That’s right, you’ve been really good lately. So you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.” Stan continued soothingly. “Just try and take a couple of deep breaths for me.”

Fiddleford did as Stan asked, taking a few shaky deep breaths. Stan was right he reasoned. Fiddleford had nothing to worry about. Stan had only hurt him after he had tried escaping or lashed at out the brothers. All things considered both brothers had treated him quite well. And they reminded him often that they didn’t want to hurt him if they could help it. 

With these thoughts parading through Fiddleford’s brain he was able to calm down enough to stop shaking. He did still have to close his eyes when Stan brought the blade close to his face. But Stan went nice and slowly, talking his way through the whole process so that nothing took Fiddleford by surprise. He interspersed his explanation with comforting praise and reminders for Fiddleford to keep breathing. 

After what felt like hours to Fiddleford but was actually closer to thirty minutes Stan was patting his face dry with a soft towel and proclaiming him done. Stan finished up by working some ointment onto Fiddleford’s wrists and ankles to help the skin where it had been rubbed raw. Fiddleford used the break to regain his wits. Watching Stan treat his appendages left him hung up on the man’s care.

“There we go, that should help with any soreness you might be feelin’. Remember you gotta tell Ford or me if anything gets to uncomfortable.” Stan said standing up and pulling Fiddleford with him. “Now how about you get a look at yerself in the mirror, see that face all shiny and clean again.”

Before Stan could spin him around and Fiddleford could think about his own actions, he closed the small distance between the two of them and pressed his lips softly to Stan’s own. 

Both men froze, Stan’s hands tightened around Fiddleford’s upper arms. But as soon as Stan started to deepen the kiss, Fiddleford pulled away, shaking once again.

“Sorry,” he squeaked. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s alright, baby,” Stan said with a low chuckle. “It’s all okay, everything is fine. We’ll take it slow. As long as you’re feeling good there’s nothin’ wrong with what we do.” 

“Ca-can I just go back to my c-cage,” Fiddleford pleaded. He felt adrift in the maelstrom of his thoughts. 

“Of course,” Stan said. He led Fiddleford back to the cages, keeping a hand somewhere on him during the whole walk. 

Fiddleford couldn’t look at Stan. He wanted nothing more than to shy away from where the man’s large hands touched him. But at the same time he found the contact soothing and that it grounded him. His thoughts stayed firmly stuck on the kiss. Just before he had done it all he could think about was how kind Stan had been the whole day.

Fiddleford’s return to the cage was accomplished in relative silence. His hands were uncuffed and his leg restraints were reattached to the cot. Fiddleford had sat heavily on the cot as soon as they had got back to it. Simply letting Stan set things up around him. All he wanted was Stan to go and leave him to his thoughts. He need to do some serious rationalizing if he was going to convince himself this was still part of the playing along act. 

But just as Stan turned to leave the cage Fiddleford stuttered out a thank you.

“Fo-for the shower. A-and, and the shave.” He quickly tried to clarify. He blushed, hating the feeling of heat creeping up his cheeks.

Stan turned back to him, a kind smile playing on his face. He stepped back into Fiddleford’s space. Fiddleford’s breath caught, his head was craned up to watch Stan’s face, and he waited to see what the other man would do. 

Stan watched Fiddleford for a few moments taking in the sight of the man gazing up at him. He then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Fiddleford’s forehead. 

“It’s not a problem, Bean-Pole. All you gotta do is ask.” Stan said kindly as he turned to leave for real.  
Fiddleford's whole body sagged as tension he hadn’t realized he was holding released. His thoughts were even more muddled as he watched Stan go. Now he really wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Maybe it would give him a chance to catch up with his thoughts and deal with these feelings. 

Of course Fiddleford’s luck was pretty much the worst, because Ford showed up just as Stan was finishing locking up the cage. He limped slowly into the room taking in Fiddleford’s dazed expression and the bulge Stan still sported. 

“What’s going on?” Ford asked innocently.

Fiddleford blanched, he had literally no idea what was going on between him and Stan. But he couldn’t imagine Ford was going to take it well when he heard Fiddleford had kissed his brother. Ford didn’t strike Fiddleford as the type of guy who would like to share. 

“You’ll never guess what happened, Sixer.” Stan said happily, turning to greet his brother. “Fidds kissed me!”

“Really?” Ford replied with interest. His gaze fell on Fiddleford and Fiddleford felt like an insect pinned to a board by it. 

“Yeah, after he jacked it in the shower.” 

Fiddleford was pretty sure he was going to die of embarrassment, assuming Ford didn’t kill him first. 

“Hmm, well that explains what got you excited.” Ford said as he backed Stan into the bars of the cage. One hand traveling down to rub circles on the bulge in his brother’s pants.

Stan whined at the contact and he tried to grind harder against his brother’s hand. But Ford was having none of that, and spun Stan around to face Fiddleford. Slotting himself firmly against his brother’s back. He continued to gently tease Stan, whose actions now caused him to grind back against Ford’s own crotch. During all of this Ford kept his gaze fixed on Fiddleford. He watched his captive’s reaction to everything that occurred.

"You must be feeling more comfortable here,” Ford mused. “A decrease in stress or fear would lead to a return of your libido. Is this the first time this has occurred? I shouldn’t have left my journal in the other room, this would useful information to have recorded.”

Fiddleford was pretty sure his brain had stalled, this was not what he had been expecting at all. Was everything seriously an opportunity to collect data for this man?

“Fooord,” Stan groaned. “Quit it with the science already and help me out.”

“Now, now Stanley, no need to be impatient.” Ford’s hands stilled with this statement, and Stan whined at the loss of friction.

Ford turned Stan back around. He kissed his brother hard before pushing him towards the ground. This put Stan level with the tent that had formed in Ford’s trousers and Stan quickly leaned forward to nuzzle at it.

“You caused this, you’ll take care of it before you get your own release,” Ford said. One hand was tangled in Stan’s hair and Ford used it to press his twin’s face against his own crotch. 

Stan fumbled with Ford’s belt and zipper. He carefully slide his brother’s pants and underwear down far enough for Ford’s cock to spring free. Stan’s grinding had caused it to swell, but Stan had to pump Ford’s cock once or twice with a spit slicked hand for it to reach full hardness. He wrapped a hand around his brother’s hip and then began taking Ford’s cock into his mouth. Licking and sucking at the head and shaft the way he knew his brother liked. Ford kept one hand in his brother’s hair setting the pace, while the other wrapped tightly around the cage bar in front of him. 

“Is-is this what you imagined, Fidds? When you jacked off in the shower, did you imagine my brother’s mouth wrapped around your dick?” Ford said between pants and grunts. His eyes were once again locked onto Fiddleford, who found himself unable to look away from the brothers. “He’s really rather talented with his mouth you know.”

Fiddleford watched. He told himself that it was the horror he felt that kept him from looking away but he knew it was lie. Especially when he felt his own cock stirring at the sight. He tried to ignore the feelings, tried to think of dead puppies and his grandmother, anything to stifle the reaction. But these proved feeble distractions when the sight and sound of Stan sucking his twin off was taking up Fiddleford’s entire world. 

He then tried to justify that the reaction was only to Stan. He was only aroused by seeing the man he had just kissed sucking so enthusiastically on a cock. And while the sight did have him imagining what it would feel like to have Stan’s mouth wrapped around his own cock. He couldn’t deny that he was also wondering what it would feel like to have that six fingered twisting through his own hair, forcing him to take a dick deeper into his mouth.

The brothers kept at it. Ford quietly whispered praised to Stan, while Stan hummed happily around his brother’s cock. Eventually Ford stiffened, spilling cum down Stan’s throat. Stan kept sucking until his brother’s orgasm was finished, finally letting Ford’s dick slip from his mouth with a wet pop.  
Ford pulled Stan upright for a heated kiss, not even bothering to fix his pants. He chased his own salty taste deep into his brother’s mouth. One hand tangled in Stan’s hair again, while the other worked Stan’s pants open and began to stroke at his erection. Ford only broke their kiss when Stan began to whine and writhe against him.

“Look at you, coming apart from just your big brother’s hand,” Ford panted. He rested his forehead against Stan’s and watched his brother as he approached his climax. “God Stan, you’re so gorgeous like this, beautiful. Come on Stan, come for me.”

At that Stan stiffened, spilling cum over Ford’s hand. Ford held his brother as he came down from his orgasm. When Stan could stand on his own, Ford grabbed a rag and cleaned the two of them up, tucking them both back into their pants. Finally as Ford was redoing his own belt he glanced up and caught Fiddleford’s attention. 

“How are you doing over there?” Ford asked once again feigning innocence. 

Fiddleford had watched the entire thing, much to his embarrassment. At least the last time Stan had threatened him. And the erection he was doing a poor job of hiding spoke to how much he had enjoyed what the twins had done. He felt shame burn through his gut, but it did nothing to quell his erection.

“It’s alright, Fidds,” Stan said. His words slurred slightly and his voice was even rougher than before. He leaned against the cage next to his brother watching their captive squirm on the cot inside. “Remember what I said, as long as it feels good there’s nothing wrong about it.” 

“It’s a perfectly natural bodily reaction,” Ford agreed. “You might as well take care of it, it’ll be quicker than waiting for it to go away on its own. And it’s not like we’ll judge you.”

A high pitched whine rose in Fiddleford’s throat but he slid his boxers down his hips anyway. He wrapped his hand around his once again hard dick and began to move it along his shaft. Without the water the friction his hand provided burned. But he wanted it to hurt this time, hating himself for feeling this way at all. 

He lost himself to the sensation. His own precum soon coated his hand and dick speeding up the process and taking away the painful burn.

Fiddleford didn't last long, not with the memory of the twins still fresh in his mind. After he climaxed he stared blearily at his cum covered hand, silently wishing it would turn into anything else.

"Good job, Fidds. That was perfect, you're perfect."

Stan's praise startled Fiddleford from his contemplation of his hand. He looked up to find the brothers standing over him. He hadn't even noticed them coming into the cage.

Ford nodded his agreement as he gently cleaned Fiddleford's hand. Fiddleford stared at his hand as it was cradled by two larger six fingered hands and he could swear it belonged to another person. Fiddleford occasionally turned his gaze to Stan, blinking owlishly at him and struggling to form a thought. 

"Uh oh Sixer. I think your fears may have come to pass. I think we broke Bean-Pole's brain."

"It’s probably best if we leave him alone for a bit. Some sleep will probably help him sort things out," Ford said. Patting Fiddleford's head in a kindly manner before tugging his brother towards the cage door.

When Ford's hand touched Fiddleford's head, the fantasy of having those six fingers tangled in his hair returned, hitting him like a train. Fiddleford startled away from the hand and wrapped himself tightly in his blanket. Hoping to shut out the rest of the world for a while. 

\---

The next morning when he woke, Fiddleford found two sci-fi paperbacks and his glasses waiting with his breakfast.


	8. New Normal

Fiddleford was a quarter of the way through his first book when Ford came limping over to the desk cursing and grumbling loudly enough for Fiddleford to look up. He had been engrossed in the story, savoring each page of the frankly terrible dime store novel. Ford didn’t stay long, storming back into the lab with his arms full of books. Fiddleford shrugged to himself and returned to reading. 

When the interruption occurred the third time in as many chapters, Fiddleford considered asking what was up. Ford seemed to be struggling with something, and there had been no sign of Stan all day. But before he could ask, Ford’s attention fell on Fiddleford.

“You’ve taken chemistry, you have some understanding of chemical reactions.” Ford said turning the questions into statements. 

“Uh, yeah. I took chemistry in college.” Fiddleford ventured. “I’m a bit rusty now though.”

“That will have to do,” Ford said sounding resigned. He unlocked Fiddleford’s cage and ushered him out.

“Come on, hurry. We don’t have much time. My stupid leg is acting up. And if these reactions don’t go perfectly I won’t have enough ingredients to try again.” Ford said heading off into the lab.

Fiddleford followed after him as best he could with his ankles still chained together. Luckily Ford’s limp slowed him down and allowed Fiddleford to keep up with him. He wondered what chemistry could possibly be prevented by a hurt leg but was drawing a blank.

The room they entered was filled with an impressive array of equipment. It was carefully arranged and all seemed to be in use. It looked like Ford was trying to distill something by using an entire chemistry stockroom worth of glassware. Fiddleford wasn’t even sure there were names for every glass and beaker in use. 

“I’m trying to increase the potency of these berries from the woods. The distillation process seems to be the best bet,” Ford explained. Leading Fiddleford over to a ladder that would allow someone to reach a large funnel. “But some of the ingredients are proving to be rather volatile when mixed together. Timing is key.”

Ford pushed a beaker of red liquid and a lab coat into Fiddleford’s hands while the man was attempting to process Ford’s previous statement.

“Here take this, on my signal pour it into that funnel. Then I’ll release these valves down here, which will bathe the condenser in water. And hopefully allow any extra energy to be diverted out of the system.”

Fiddleford donned the lab coat and climbed the ladder. The leg cuffs made it a delicate process but the chain was just long enough to allow him to climb up the steps. He then waited patiently while Ford observed another boiling beaker on the other side of the room.

He was grateful that Ford had thought a little bit about lab safety and given him the lab coat. It wouldn't do much but it was better than having chemicals spill directly on his skin. It was also the first piece of real clothing he had worn in ages. 

“Oh I probably should mention, there is a small chance that if this doesn’t go right it could explode. Now, Fidds. Pour now.”

Fiddleford dumped his beaker into the funnel. His hands following Ford’s order while his brain tried to process the man’s last statement. With a sinking feeling he watched the red liquid mix into the bubbling substance below him. The mixture was reacting so vigorously that the whole glass contraption was shaking. It wasn’t going to work he thought glumly, he was going to die in some horrific glass shrapnel lab accident. 

Ford yelped triumphantly as he twisted the valve and the whole room filled with steam as water rushed over the shaking glass. When the steam had cleared, Fiddleford clambered down the ladder and joined Ford, where he stood watching a miniscule amount of liquid drip into a flask. 

“That’s it then?” Fiddleford asked skeptically.

“Yeah, it worked great. Good job.” Ford said pleased as punch over the success. 

Personally Fiddleford thought they had gone through an awful lot of trouble for so little product. But then there was a reason he was an engineer and not a chemist. Ford didn’t even wait for the liquid to finish settling out before he was dragging Fiddleford off to the next project. There were apparently many things that he hadn’t been able to work on because of his leg. Or because Stan had banned him from working on them alone. And Ford was taking advantage of Fiddleford’s unsuspecting willingness to help.

When Ford finally settled at his desk that evening, allowing Fiddleford to collapse onto his cot, the engineer was exhausted. They had leapt from project to project, barely finishing one before they were on to the next.

One moment they would be standing at a chalk board covered in theoretical physics, and the next they would be trying to subdue some insane magical beast so they could draw its blood. 

Fiddleford was more than impressed with Ford after working with him all day. The man was an actual genius. His brain thought in directions and patterns Fiddleford could hardly keep up with. But even as smart as he was he still seemed to actually value Fiddleford’s thoughts and feedback on his projects. 

The next day when Ford showed up at the cage asking if Fiddleford knew how to solder, Fiddleford was on his feet in an instant excited to help once again. 

As things progressed they fell into a natural rhythm. Ford was pleased to have knowledgeable assistant, who seemed excited about most of his projects. Fiddleford was happy to finally be doing something again. And Stan was glad that his brother was making a friend that was able to actually keep up with him in the nerd realm. And that there was someone else to keep an eye on Ford when Stan had to work. 

Although Stan had pulled Fiddleford aside after the first day and explained to him in no uncertain terms what would happen if Fiddleford used their new leniency to hurt Ford or try to escape. 

“Just so we’re clear, if I come home and my brother has suffered so much as a scratch at your hands, I will personally turn you inside out. And I will use some of Ford’s spooky junk to make sure you live through the whole process.”

Fiddleford’s throat bobbed with a gulp and he aggressively nodded his understanding.

“Good, good. Also don’t forget we do know where you live, and I will happily hunt you down if you escape. And once I’m at your house who knows, maybe I’ll get confused and grab your kid or your wife while I’m lookin' for you.”

Fiddleford blanched, nodding again. He didn’t want either brother getting anywhere near his family. He would stay here the rest of his life if it kept his family from ever having to meet the twins. 

“Great, I’m glad we got that all taken care of. I’m really glad you and Ford are bonding. Just give a shout if you nerds get in over your heads and need some muscle to come bail you out," Stan said. He leaned close and gave Fiddleford a gentle kiss on the forehead before taking his leave. 

That was another thing that had changed. Stan had become more affectionate. He never went beyond casual touches and pecks on the forehead, but he would sometimes drop by simply to chat. Or personally bring Fiddleford his food. Especially when he had cooked something new and wanted to see how Fiddleford liked it. 

Fiddleford was still unsure of his feelings, but the kindness was too nice to pass up in his current situation. After so long in captivity he craved any comforting contact he could get. He was easily swayed to Stan’s mantra of as long as they both liked it what they were doing was fine. It helped that Ford didn’t seem to mind Stan and Fiddleford’s changing dynamic. The one time he had brought up the matter had been to chastise his brother for taking up to much of his new assistant’s time. 

\---

Fiddleford had gotten so used to the new status quo he found himself following Ford each day without questioning it. Even when Ford’s leg had healed enough that he no longer limped, they kept working together. Ford would usually fill him in on any pertinent details before they got started. Generally in a single long and technical sentence that took all Fiddleford's attention just to keep up. So when they walked all the way through the lab in silence, Fiddleford found himself leery of that day's project. 

"What are we working on today?" He asked as they entered the corner of the lab that contained the medical examination table. The area still gave him the creeps. But they had worked in the room a few times on creatures brought in from the woods so he had no reason to suspect it would be any different. 

He found that he didn’t mind helping Ford with those experiments as much as he thought he would. It brought back uneasy feelings of dread at being under the knife himself, and he sometimes found himself rubbing at the scars on his legs. But Ford maintained his intense focus no matter the experiment and Fiddleford found himself swept along in the researcher’s wake. 

"You," Ford answered matter of factly from the cabinet he was pulling supplies from. 

Fiddleford panicked. He started shivering, and his heart sped up. His brain screamed at him to run, but his legs remained frozen in place. He had somehow thought assisting Ford made him exempt from being a participant in experiments again. 

"Do you remember the electric shocks we put that gnome through the other day? We're going to do the same thing to you, compare the reactions." Ford stated as he stood up with his arms full of wires and a battery. 

"P-please don't," Fiddleford choked out in a tiny whisper. 

The shocks shouldn't have been all that bad, but they had miscalculated how much the creature could take based on its size. When they had finally stopped the gnome had been experiencing random spasms and they had treated it for a few severe electrical burns. Ford was still monitoring its healing process. 

"I don’t want to hurt you like this Fidds, but I don’t have any other human test subjects. It will be alright. I don't think you will react quite as badly as the gnome did." Ford said, possibly attempting for reassuring but failing miserably. "Your greater mass should be able to handle the voltage. But that's only a hypothesis of course, that's why we need to test it."

Fiddleford stood next to the exam table shaking. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to hurt anymore, he didn't want to be here. 

"Can't we p-please do something else? Anything else?" Fiddleford was feeling frantic, his voice rose, and he couldn't look directly at Stanford. "Use a creature from the woods? Or s-someone else?"

They both paused, surprised by Fiddleford's final question. 

"Do, do you really mean that?" Ford asked. He stared Fiddleford down with laser focus.

Fiddleford took deep gasping breathes, trying to get control back over his thoughts. Did he mean that? No, not really. He was terrified of what might happen and really didn't want it to occur. But at the same time he wouldn't wish this on anyone else.

"N-no," he finally admitted knowing he had sealed his fate. 

"Alright then, hop up on the table, we don't have all day. There are a couple of other experiments we need to get to before Stanley inevitably interrupts us for lunch." Ford said. 

Fiddleford gingerly got onto the exam table and lay back. He took deep breaths the whole time, trying to remain calm. He couldn't help shaking his head at the final comment, only Ford would see food as an annoying distraction. 

Ford passed him a leather covered rod to bite down on. "This is probably going to hurt," he said as he flipped a switch. 

Fiddleford managed to roll his eyes at Ford's understatement before electricity coursed through him. He let out a muffled scream, clenching his teeth gratefully around the rod.

When they finished Fiddleford was covered in sweat and felt exhausted. His left arm was still tingly and Ford was treating some minor burns on his and Fiddleford's hands. The genius had come up with some brilliant way of balancing a tricky equation while they were testing. Of course he had to write it down immediately and had managed to grab an electrode rather than a pen. Since he also had a hand on the battery at the time, he had managed to shock himself quite badly. 

Fiddleford had taken quite a bit if pleasure watching Ford jump around with his fingers in his mouth. Although it had led Ford to trying a number of experiments where he shocked both of them to Fiddleford's dismay. He almost always took the brunt of the shock as Ford had him acting as the ground. 

By the time Stan showed up with lunch Fiddleford was feeling almost completely better. He was grateful for the break though since his exhaustion made it hard to keep up with Ford. 

Stan asked them questions about the projects they had worked on and listened intently to their stories. He used any pauses provided by Fiddleford telling his own parts of the story to force food into Ford's mouth. After they told him about the burns, he checked both of their hands over. He pressed a soft kiss to the hurt digits on both men's hands. Fiddleford blushed at the tenderness and domesticity of the moment. 

Eventually Stan had to leave. He informed the other men that he had to go into work, and would be gone all night. So they shouldn't wait up for him. 

"Make sure Ford actually goes to bed sometime today, Fidds." Stan said ruffling Fiddleford's hair as he got up to leave. 

"Sure thing, Stan." Fiddleford replied, leaning into the touch.

"I don't need a babysitter, Stan." Ford said with a pout. "I have two Ph.D.s."

"Yeah you do, Poindexter." Stan said with a laugh. He winked at Fiddleford, who grinned along with him. "And neither of those degrees are in basic human functions. Honestly they're probably part of your problem."

Ford got up in a huff, heading off to start on another project, as soon as Stan had left. Fiddleford heaved himself up with a groan and shuffled after him. His electrocuted muscles protested the movement and he briefly considered rewounding Ford’s leg if only to slow him down for a while. He quickly dismissed this thought after recalling some of Stan’s more creative threats if anything should happen to Ford. 

“Maybe you should read a book or something,” Fiddleford said when the exertion finally became too much for his body. He was sprawled in a chair watching Ford work frantically about the room. “Don’t you need to draw something or work on a calculation? Something, anything, that’s more restive.” 

“You can take a break or a nap if you need to,” Ford said without looking up from his work. “I’ve got this under control. And it wouldn’t do to overtax you after this morning.”

“But Stan said to keep an eye on you.” Fiddleford was very tempted by the offer but hesitant to neglect his duties. 

“Stan is a worry wart. I managed well enough before you started helping me, I think I’ll get by on my own for a little while at least. Here, let me get something that might help you.” Ford said ducking into another part of the lab. 

He came back with a steaming mug, which he handed to Fiddleford.

“What is it?” Fiddleford asked looking into the murky contents of the mug.

“Cider, special recipe. Stan left it for us since he won’t be around tonight. I just heated it up.” Ford answered while returning to his work.

Fiddleford blew on the mug to help it cool, before taking a couple of sips. It tasted like cider, and pretty good cider at that. He was half way through the mug when the warm feeling in his stomach from the drink started to change. His stomach twisted, and cramped. He barely managed to set the mug on the table next to him, before sharp pain had him clasping his abdomen with both hands. 

“W-what, what was in that?” He gasped as pain wracked his body.

“How are you feeling? Can you describe the sensations?” Ford asked his entire focus shifting to Fiddleford.

“Yo-you put something in it, didn’t you?” Fiddleford accused, feeling intensely betrayed. “You said you wouldn’t put anything in my food.”

“I lied.” Ford stated.

Fiddleford cried out from the pain, and toppled unconscious out of the chair.


	9. Better Left Unsaid

Fiddleford came to feeling surprisingly refreshed for how much pain he had been in before passing out. He had no idea how long he was out and neither brother was around to ask. There was a large plate of food waiting for him. The sight of it made his stomach growl loudly, alerting him to how famished he was feeling.

"Uhm excuse me, s-sorry but do you know where we are?" A timid voice called out startling Fiddleford. 

He was so surprised he nearly dropped the second sandwich he was wolfing down. Fiddleford blamed his extreme hunger for completely and utterly missing the glaring change to his surroundings. 

There was a man. In the adjacent cage. The cage that had been empty for Fiddleford's entire captivity. Both of the man's arms were chained to the bars above his head. And a blindfold was wrapped snugly around his eyes, preventing him from seeing his surroundings. 

Fiddleford's mind reeled. His food was forgotten, while he tried to process what was going on. First he was poisoned and now the brothers had abducted someone else. Had it been because of what he had said to Ford before the electrocutions? Exactly how long had he been out and what were the twins playing at? What was he supposed to tell this guy?

He was prevented from having to answer the last question by a familiar voice. 

"Fidds, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Ford asked coming into the room from the hallway leading to the rest of the house. He hurried over to the desk to collect his journal to record Fiddleford's answers.

"What the hell did you do?" Fiddleford all but shouted, unsure if he was referring to the spiked drink or the other captive. 

"I mixed some of the distilled berries into your drink. They're supposed to provide energy." Ford informed him. "I may have misjudged the dose."

"You think." Fiddleford groused, but still rattled off what he could remember from the experience and his current condition. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of days. Stan was pretty worried for a while." Ford admitted. "But it did work, you're feeling better now. I probably need to dilute the dose more."

"I also slept for two days, are you sure that's not confusing you're results?" Fiddleford asked. Though he had to admit that he felt more refreshed than even he would expect for that much sleep.

Ford waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, of course but I've accounted for that. If I get the dose correct I think I could eliminate the need for sleep altogether."

"That's, that's a really bad idea, Ford, even for you." Fiddleford replied with a shake if his head.

For a few moments the only sounds in the basement came from Ford's pen scratching across the journal. Fiddleford used the pause to build up the courage to address the elephant in the room.

"So, uhm, what's up with this guy?" He asked pointing a thumb towards the other captive. 

"Oh you mean Steven. That's right you weren't awake when we brought him in."

The man in question had been tracking the conversation and visibly perked up when his name was mentioned. 

“Stan found him on his way home from work the other night. His car was broken down on one of the back roads.” Ford explained. “I wasn’t entirely sure if you would recover. So Stan picked him up so that there would be no reason for my research to be delayed.”

“What, uh, what are planning to do with him?”

“Hmm, I have a few ideas in mind. Stan is actually going to be down soon to give me a hand.” Ford said. “I’m going to go check on other projects but you don’t need to worry about helping today. Just finish up your food. Stan will be glad to see you’re up.”

Fiddleford picked unenthusiastically at his food. He tried his hardest to ignore the other captive and his own thoughts. 

“Fidds? Is that your name?” Steven asked in a low voice. “W-what are they going to do to me? What d-did they do to you?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” Fiddleford bit out. 

He turned to face the other captive even though the man couldn’t see him. Steven also wore nothing but boxers and his bindings. Fiddleford guessed that they were of similar build and around the same height. He was taken aback by how young the man looked, it was hard to gauge his age accurately without being able to see his eyes. But Fiddleford suspected he was even younger than the twins. 

“Ford, Ford is probably going to torture you, and claim it’s in the name of science.” Fiddleford said with frank honesty. He felt like he was going to be sick. “A-and I don’t want to have to help him.” He finished quietly, his voice catching as he started to hyperventilate. 

“Hey, hey man calm down. It’s gonna be alright, yeah. We’ll figure something out.” The man said trying to talk Fiddleford down from his panic. “Somebody’s gotta come looking for us. The cops, or something, they’ll save us.” 

Fiddleford huddled under his blanket on the cot, food forgotten. He wanted nothing more than to block out the other man’s words. “Nobody saved me,” he whispered. 

Steven fell silent at this and both men were left alone with their thoughts. The oppressive silence didn’t have long to settle around them, as it was soon broken by Stan’s arrival. 

“Look who finally decided to join the world of the living.” Stan crowed when he saw Fiddleford. “Glad to see Sixer didn’t damage you permanently, he was pretty worried there for a bit. I assume you’ve met the new guy.”

Stan opened up Steven’s cage and went about preparing the man to be moved while he talked. Even blindfolded Steven put up quite a bit of struggle, lashing out at Stan when he could. 

“Wow, easy there new guy. Ford doesn’t like it when I damage the goods but if you kick like that again I may just have to break something.” Stan grunted, catching the bound man’s leg after a particularly aggressive kick. 

Fiddleford watched the whole thing dully. He had been excited to see Stan and now felt sick watching him interact with the other captive. He shivered at Stan’s casual comments about the violence he could wreck. Fiddleford wasn’t used to those comments being directed at anyone but him. So he was reacting instinctively to them, freezing up and waiting to see what Stan would do next.

Stan eventually got the blind folded man up and frog marched him deeper into the lab. As he past Fiddleford’s cage he called out kindly. “You’ve got a fair bit of scruff growing again. When we’re finished up with this I’ll take care of that for you.”

Fiddleford spent the rest of the day hiding in his blanket. He tried to keep his mind busy by reading. The books were a good distraction from his churning thoughts, but did a poor job of blocking out the hoarse screams. He felt awful about it but he was grateful when the screaming stopped. Not caring whether it was because the man’s voice had failed him or he’d been gagged. 

Stan and Ford eventually brought Steven back to the cage. He sagged between the brothers, unable to move on his own. Fiddleford’s gaze was captured by the man’s skin which was a mess of cuts and bruises. The worst of the wounds were bandaged, but even those were tinged red. 

He watched with a sick fascination as Ford poked and prodded at a few of the deeper cuts after they got the man settled. Steven’s head lolled back and he let out a handful of weak whimpers even though he didn’t seem to be conscious. 

“Fooord,” Stan let out with a long groan. “Ford, please. I need…”

“I know Stan, I know,” Ford said with a catch in his own voice. “But I really need to record this data, why don’t you play with Fidds or something.”

Fiddleford startled at his nickname, eyes moving from the prone man in the cage next to him to the brothers. Stan met his gaze with eyes blown wide and a hungry expression on his face.

“Fidds, baby,” Stan said a huge grin splitting his face. “I did promise you a shave, and I could use a shower to clean off this blood. Whatta ya say?”

“S-sure thing Stan.” He heard himself stutter. No that was wrong, that was very wrong. He wanted to yell at the brothers, spit in their faces, defend Steven, anything but agree with Stan. And yet he found himself pressing tightly against Stan’s side when he was let out of the cage. Taking considerable comfort in the contact.

They left Ford engrossed in his writings. But not before he had pulled Stan in for a heated kiss, and ran a kind hand through Fiddleford’s hair, almost as if to say thank you. “I’ll join you as soon as I’m done,” he promised. 

It took them a while to reach the small bathroom, because Stan couldn’t keep his hands off the taller man. He ran his hands anywhere he could reach, exploring how Fiddleford’s body responded. For his part Fiddleford tried his best to keep them moving. They stumbled on occasion when Stan became too pushy. But Fiddleford didn’t care because needed to get away from the cages and what was going on there. When they finally reached the bathroom door, Stan pushed Fiddleford up against it. He pulled the taller man down into a heated kiss. It was the first real one since Fiddleford had kissed Stan in the bathroom and this one was much less chaste. 

A whine built in Fiddleford's throat as Stan licked at his lips trying to gain access to his mouth. When Stan heard the whine he abruptly broke the kiss, pulling just far enough away to make eye contact with the other man.

"Sorry, sorry Fidds. I shoulda asked. Shouldn't have just done that." Stan panted. His breath gusting warmly across Fiddleford's face. "Is this okay. This alright? We can stop, whatever you want."

"Stan, please," Fiddleford whimpered. Kissing Stan had completely stopped the thoughts in his head for the first time since waking up. He wanted the woolly feeling in his brain to continue. "Don't stop."

That was all Stan needed to hear. He reinitiated the kiss while opening up the bathroom door. The two men stumbled backwards into the small room. They made quick work of Stan's clothes and Fiddleford's boxers.

In no time at all they were standing under the hot spray. Despite its heat Fiddleford still shivered as he watched red tinged water run down the drain. His brain traitorously reminding him who it belonged to and how it had come to be there. As soon as Stan turned back around from letting the water rinse him clean, Fiddleford practically climbed the younger man. Trying to chase the unwanted thoughts away with the feeling of wet skin beneath his hands. 

Stan chuckled, returning Fiddleford’s eager kisses. "What's got you so excited, Fidds?"

At Stan’s question Fiddleford felt something snap inside him, like a string pulled to tight. With a broken sob he broke their kiss and pulled away just far enough to pound ineffectually on Stan’s chest. 

“Why Stan? Why do you help Ford? Why do you let him h-hurt people?” Fiddleford punctuated each question with a solid hit to Stan’s chest, though the younger man didn’t seem to feel a thing. “Please, please, why can’t you stop?”

Stan caught Fiddleford’s wrists in his hand, and pulled him into a tight hug. This stopped Fiddleford’s physical outburst but caused him to cry harder. Stan held him through the whole thing, murmuring soothing words while Fiddleford continued to sob out half formed questions and pleas.

Fiddleford hated the comfort Stan showed him in that moment. He hated all the kindness Stan had ever given him. It would have been so much easier if Stan had yelled or hit him when he had lashed out. He could deal with the violence, he was terrified of what Stan could do and could have easily kept his distance if all the brothers had thrown at him was violence and pain. The kindness was what was breaking him the worst. It’s what was making him excited to help Ford most of the time and fall for Stan despite the danger. He desperately wished he could keep the brothers from getting further under his skin. But even though he couldn’t admit it to himself it was already too late.

Finally his cries had quieted and he ran out of words. Stan still held him as the water ran over their bodies. 

“All done, Bean-Pole?” Stan asked, as he pulled Fiddleford away from his chest. He gently wiped at the water and tears mixing on the other man’s face. Fiddleford gave a hiccupping nod.

“I know it can seem like what Ford does is wrong sometimes. But he’s a genius. He has a real gift that the worlds gonna benefit from someday. He just needs to express himself in ways society doesn’t always approve of.” 

While Stan talked his hand wandered aimlessly over Fiddleford’s body. They traced their earlier paths at a gentler, less fevered pace. Despite Fiddleford’s outburst and strong desire to not let Stan keep effecting him, his body still took interest in Stan’s wandering hands. Fiddleford let out quiet groans and whines at the various touches as Stan continued.

“Then again society doesn’t approve of a lot of things. Things you and I both know shouldn’t be any of their business.” Stan shifted them so he was cupping Fiddleford’s face, gazing into his eyes. “This feels good, right?”

Fiddleford hummed his agreement.

“And if it feels good, then there’s nothin’ wrong with doin’ it.” Stan stated with conviction, leaning down to nibble at Fiddleford’s lips. “It’s no different for what Ford does.”

Fiddleford broke their kiss and pulled back. He shook his head vehemently, water splattering from his wet hair. He had begun to internalize Stan’s rationale and couldn’t stand hearing it used to justify Ford’s actions.

“It’s not the s-same, it’s different. This, wh-what we’re doing. It feels g-good for both of us, s-so it’s alright. But For-Ford, he, he hurts people. It’s not alright for them.” Fiddleford’s voice wavered as he spoke. He was slightly worried about angering Stan, but he also had to speak his mind. 

Something dark flashed across Stan’s face at Fiddleford’s words. “Their feelings don’t matter, Fidds. They would happily tear Ford and me apart if they knew the truth. They would lock Ford up, hurt him. At this point they would probably do the same to you. So it doesn’t matter if Ford hurts them, they’ve forfeited their feelings on the matter.”

Stan let out a rough bark of laughter. It made the part of Fiddleford that was still afraid of monsters in the dark want to curl up and hide. 

"Plus watching Ford really work. Really get into his experiments always gets me feeling riled up.” Stan ground his erection against Fiddleford’s wet hip. “The way he grips the knife, the control he has over the life on his table. My brother is beautiful, but never more so then in those moments. It feels good for me, and it feels good for him. So it’s alright, nothin’ else matters."

"Yo-you get aroused b-by that?" Fiddleford asked with a disbelieving squeak in his voice.

I know it’s messed up, not normal." Stan said pulling Fiddleford in for a heated kiss, water pounding against his back. "But nothin' about us is exactly normal, now is it?"

With that Stan pushed Fiddleford away from him, planting the smaller man's hands against the shower wall. He drank in the sight of Fiddleford's body on display. Water ran down his quivering sides. His erection had flagged during their conversation. But Stan knew with how conditioned Fiddleford was becoming to his touches that it wouldn’t take much to get the older man interested again. Stan grabbed some soap. Applying it liberally to his hands before working them over Fiddleford's body. The taller man trembled and gasped at Stan's touches, Stan loved how sensitive Fiddleford was. He enjoyed it even more knowing that he and his brother’s captivity of the man had caused it. 

"God, Fidds baby, you're perfect. So gorgeous like this. You gotta tell me what feels good, tell me what you want. I'll give you anything you ask."

Fiddleford didn’t want to keep thinking about their conversation, about his outburst and Stan's disturbing revelations. And the sensation of hands on his body provided the perfect distraction to lose himself in. Stan was going an excellent job of getting Fiddleford completely clean but not of touching the one place he actually wanted Stan to. It wasn't long before he had been soaped from head to toe, but his cock had been completely neglected.

"Please, Stan, please. I need--" Fiddleford whined. "I need you to touch me."

Stan's low chuckle from behind sent a pulse of warmth straight to Fiddleford's groin. The sensation was amplified by Stan wrapping one large hand around Fiddleford's shaft. He groaned loudly at the contact, hips trying to thrust into the feeling. But he was stopped by Stan's other hand wrapping snuggly around his wet hip. 

He felt Stan press up against him, Stan's hard cock slipping against his wet skin. Then with short, controlled motions Stan rocked the two of them together. Fiddleford moaned at the dual sensation of thrusting into Stan's hand while Stan's cock rubbed against his ass. Fiddleford didn't last long with the rhythm Stan set. And he was soon shooting cum onto the floor of the shower. He trembled through his orgasm. Stan's hand on his hip was the only thing keeping him upright while Stan continued to rut against him. It didn't take long before Stan too was coming all over Fiddleford's ass and thighs. 

Stan held the two of them together for a moment longer, before turning Fiddleford back around and gently kissing him. The water rinsed the two men clean again. 

"Now you can return the favor," Stan said, breaking the kiss, a bar of soap in his outstretched hand.

Fiddleford took the soap and worked it over the younger man's skin. He took the same care and attention as Stan had showed him, massaging and scrubbing until Stan was clean. While his fingers worked he also got a chance to observe Stan's scars up close again. As fingers ghosted over burns and slashes, Fiddleford found himself curious about the stories behind them. Despite his recent orgasm, Stan's dick stirred at Fiddleford's explorations. But Stan didn't let him do more than give it a cursory swipe to get it clean.

All too soon they were both clean and Stan reluctantly shut off the shower. He tossed Fiddleford a towel while he set about drying himself off with another. When they were dry Fiddleford found himself on the bucket again. Stan, with only a towel around his waist, had pulled out the shaving kit and was preparing to go to work on Fiddleford's face. The shave was much quicker this time and Fiddleford felt relaxed through the whole thing. 

As Stan was finishing up, cleaning the blade, and stowing the kit Ford opened the bathroom door. He wrapped his arms around Stan from behind and nuzzled against his brothers neck. Stan turned in Ford's embrace and the brothers' lips met in a kiss.

Fiddleford blushed from his seat on the bucket. The moment felt extremely intimate and Fiddleford felt strange for being there to observe it. He had seen the brothers kissing often enough. But the weight of Stan's earlier admissions gave this moment a depth he had missed before. 

"If you're done playing, Stan. I thought we could head upstairs." Ford purred to his brother. One leg slid easily between Stan's thighs, seeking the half hard erection hidden by the towel. "Make some dinner, watch a movie, go from there." 

Stan moaned wantonly. "Su-sure thing, Sixer. Let me put Fidds away and I'll be right there."

Ford grinned, pressed his leg firmly against Stan, and then turned to leave. 

"Don't be long," he called over his shoulder practically sashaying out of the bathroom.

Stan let out a low moan at the sight.

"Sorry to cut things short, Fidds but it looks like I've got a date."

"That's fine, Stan, not a problem." Fiddleford replied mesmerized by the adoring look on Stan's face. 

Stan quickly redressed before escorting Fiddleford back to his cage. They exchanged a brief kiss before Stan took off down the hallway after his waiting brother. 

The thoughts Fiddleford had been trying to suppress were rudely reawakened when he returned to his cot. He could hear his neighbor making pitiful whimpering sounds. And no amount of hiding in his blanket could block them out. He fell asleep that night to Steven's mumbled prayers.

"Please god, please. I just want to see my family again. Please let them stop hurting me, please."

Needless to say Fiddleford's night was anything but restive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off a huge thanks to everyone who has been reading this so far, especially everyone who commented. Its been more fun than I could have ever expected. One more chapter and that will wrap up this part of the story. But I was interested enough to know how the science fair incident went down in this universe, and have written a prequel of sorts. So I'll be putting that up when this story is done.  
> Happy Solstice to you all. Congrats on making it to and hopefully through the longest night, it only gets lighter from here.


	10. Begining of Something New

Fiddleford got quite good at blocking out unwanted noise over the next couple of days. 

It helped that Ford still had him assisting with various projects. This got him out of the cage and away from his fellow captive. Fiddleford also began sketching again. Outlining new blueprints or writing down ideas for his computers. He generally did this whenever Ford ran out of things to do or became too focused on a project to provide Fiddleford with his needed distraction. He was doing anything to stay out of his cage and to keep his mind off his neighbor. 

Both brothers were interested in the designs Fiddleford came up with. Quite flattering too. Fiddleford turned beet red after Ford showed one of them to Stan. The two men spent a solid half hour gushing over the blueprints. He enjoyed the camaraderie these moments gave him. They made him feel like the brothers liked him well enough not to put him through the same torture as Steven.

Of course Fiddleford’s dedication in helping with other projects had Ford eager for his help when it came to the other captive. 

“Stan has the next specimen all prepared for us.” Ford said eagerly, leading Fiddleford through the lab. “I’m quite grateful for all the help you’ve been recently. With your help on this project I think I can get much further.”

“Of course Ford, I’m happy to,” Fiddleford replied. He was just pleased to once again be as far from the cages as possible. 

That feeling left him as soon as they entered the part of the lab with the exam table. The already occupied exam table. Stan had gotten Steven out, fully restrained, and prepared while Fiddleford and Ford had been working on another project. 

Fiddleford stopped and took in the sight. Icy numbness flooding his veins. The man was tightly bound to the table. The still healing wounds from his last time under Ford’s knife stood out against his pale skin. And the blindfold was gone. For the first time Fiddleford looked his fellow captive directly in the eye. Steven was obviously terrified, and his eyes rolled with fear. But when they landed on Fiddleford they got a spark of hope in them. 

“Hey Bean-pole,” Stan called cheerfully from where he stood by Steven’s head. “I see Ford finally talked you into helping with his little extracurricular project.”

“I-I, uhm, I’m not really sure I w-want to help with this one, Ford.” Fiddleford stuttered out, trying to keep his eyes off the bound man. “I can’t hurt that man.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Ford said dismissively. “This is no different than that goblin you helped me dissect yesterday. He’s just another specimen, and you’ll only be helping hand me tools and record results.”

“Yeah, I found early on that it helped if I didn’t think about any of Ford’s toys as people,” Stan agreed.

Fiddleford shivered at these callous statements. The brothers really didn’t see what was wrong with this. He knew their reasoning and used them himself when he helped Ford with some of his more ethically ambiguous experiments. But this was different, Fiddleford couldn’t just turn that part of himself off. He really didn’t want to hurt another person.

“We’re wasting time,” Ford huffed. “If you really can’t help I guess you could join him.”

Fiddleford blanched, feeling bile rise in his throat. What kind of a choice was that? He really, really didn’t want to have any part in harming his fellow captive but he was also terrified of being under Ford’s knife again. 

Finally with a shameful, sinking feeling Fiddleford agreed to help. “O-okay, Ford. W-what do you need me to do?”

The brothers shared twin grins at Fiddleford’s concession, and Ford set about directing his assistant. 

Steven was gagged so there was no way for him to communicate, but Fiddleford could swear the man never took his eyes off of him. They followed him about the room as he helped Ford prepare. By the time Ford was ready to set to work Fiddleford was ready to jump out of his skin. As Ford was leaning over the man on the table, Fiddleford finally locked eyes with him. 

The look in Steven’s eyes fixed Fiddleford where he stood. He felt trapped by that gaze. It should have been accusatory but was instead filled with earnestness. The look brought back all the half heard mummers Fiddleford had been working so hard to block out. The man had a family and friends he wanted to see again. Which reminded Fiddleford of the truth he had been hiding from himself. That he had lost at some point when playing along stopped being an act. He had a family he wanted to see again too.

Seeing the man like this brought Fiddleford’s reality into sharp contrast. Suddenly he could see the brothers, who he had grown to feel quite strongly for, the way he had when he was first abducted. And he saw Steven not as someone to hide from, but as the only person in this fucked up situation he should give a damn about besides himself. With a sinking feeling he realized what he had to do.

As Ford worked around the table, Fiddleford followed him. He occasionally passed Ford an instrument or materials. He used their slow motion to position himself closer to Stan. Stan grinned at him when Fiddleford got near, his hands resting threateningly on Steven’s shoulders. He desperately hoped that Stan would misinterpret their proximity as Fiddleford seeking some sort of comfort from the man’s presence.

With a couple of deep steadying breaths Fiddleford moved behind Stan. He quickly brought the metal tray in his hands down hard on Stan’s head. 

CLANG!

The noise echoed through the basement. And Fiddleford stared as Stan crumpled to the ground at his feet.

“Wha-” Ford began looking up from his work. 

Fiddleford was on him in an instant, nailing him in the skull with the tray as well. Fiddleford dropped it to the ground feeling shocked at his actions. This was going against everything his instincts were screaming at him to do. He sucked deep breaths into his lungs. Before his fear could take over he turned around, and fumbled with the straps holding Steven to the table.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Fiddleford muttered to himself while he worked. When Fiddleford had released Steven's hands he reached up and removed the gag from his mouth. 

“Thank you, oh, thank god,” Steven said while Fiddleford helped him off the table. 

“We’ve got to hurry,” Fiddleford said. “I don’t know how long they’ll be out and they’ll be really mad when they come to.”

The two captives made their way slowly through the lab. Steven leaned heavily on Fiddleford, his injuries making their escape slow going. They had barely made it to the cages when a loud bellow sounded behind them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Fiddleford whimpered, what he had done catching up with him. “That’s Stan, he is going to be furious.”

Panic was setting in. How stupid was he? Stan and Ford were going to be so mad. They would without a doubt hurt him, if not kill him. He thought about how good things had been recently. How he liked working with the brothers. How he didn’t want to go back to being hurt. 

Steven tugged on Fiddleford’s arm to get his attention. “Listen man, don’t think about that. You gotta leave me here.” Steven said his breath coming in haggard gasps. “I’m just slowing you down. Please leave me and go for help.”

Fiddleford tried to protest but the other man was close to passing out and waved him off. “Listen you can make it on your own, go to town, get help. I’ll be fine, if you’re back soon enough.”

Seeing reason Fiddleford helped Steven sit down against the cages. “I-I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Fiddleford said, his voice trembling and cracking. It didn’t matter all that much though, because Steven had already passed out. 

With one last look at the man who was relying on him Fiddleford took off at a dead run down the hallway. He had never gotten this far before and didn’t know what to expect. When he got to the elevator, he hit the button for the first floor hoping it was correct.

The leisurely pace of the elevator gave Fiddleford enough time to start thinking again. Enough time to start second guessing and panicking. His thoughts warred through his head, split into two very different camps. One side was freaking out about turning on the brothers, while the other couldn’t believe he become so consumed with playing along that he had forgotten it was supposed to have been a means to escape.

Luckily the sound of the elevator dinging broke into his thoughts before he could build up any steam. The doors opened and Fiddleford tumbled out into a dark stairwell. He managed to press every button on the panel before he got out. He hoped that the elevator stopping at each floor would give him a head start. 

He tore up the stairs and emerged in an open room. Thankfully there was a door to the outside on the other side of it. Fiddleford picked his way through the clutter that filled the space. All he had to do was open the door and he would be outside in the first time since his captivity began.

Excitement built in him as he reached for the door, enough to drown out the ever present fear. He pulled it open, and saw...

Trees.

Trees as far as the eye could see. The cabin was surrounded by a literal forest. Of course his kidnappers and would be murderers lived in some cabin in the woods. 

A quick inspection of the porch the door had opened onto found Fiddleford an oversized jacket and huge muddy boots. The seasons had started to change during his captivity. The coat provided a welcome protection from the cool bite of autumn. The boots were a bad fit but he would rather have something between his feet and the ground. 

A further look around the property revealed a red car Fiddleford vaguely remembered from the bar. As well as bits and bobs from Ford's larger experiments. 

He all but ignored the car. He doubted the keys would be easy to find. And even if they were, he didn't know the roads well enough to not end up lost and driving in circles.

He briefly considered heading off into the woods, but decided against it. Stan and Ford were sure to know the woods on their property. And he didn't stand a chance if it came down to a game of cat and mouse.

Instead he took off down the gravel driveway heading for the road. His stolen boots slapped loudly as the gravel crunched beneath them. He would just follow the roads for as long as he could. Hopefully he would stumble upon the town, or somebody would drive by before the twins managed to hunt him down. 

He kept up a quick jog until he hit a paved road. Unsure of which direction to head he gave it a random guess, praying it would lead him to town. When he had made it a fair distance down this road he slowed to a walk. He needed to pace himself, since he had no idea how long he would need to be moving for. And the stolen boots had begun to chafe and rub at feet that were no longer used to shoes. 

As Fiddleford walked the sun started to set causing the trees to cast long shadows across the road. His feet ached. His muscles were protesting all the unfamiliar activities he had put them through in the last couple of hours. But his body’s protests weren’t enough to drown out the whirling thoughts that threatened to consume him again. 

He worried about getting help in time for Steven, worried what the twins may have already done to the other man. What would he tell the cops, if he ever found them? Would anyone believe him? He would make a shocking sight wondering around bloody in an oversized coat and boxers no matter who found him. 

But those thoughts were soon overwhelmed by his worries about the twins. He fretted over how they would react to his escape. They would be so mad. And when Fiddleford made them mad they ended up hurting him. And they hated having to do that. 

He didn’t want to be hurt and felt guilty about forcing Ford and Stan to be in a position to do something they detested. He really hadn’t wanted to anger them. But, as he kept reminding himself, there was also no way he could continue to help hurt his fellow captive. 

These thoughts inevitably dredged up Stan’s many threats, promises really, if Fiddleford should act up or escape. He shivered at the thought of the brothers going after his family.

The dark thoughts were beginning to overwhelm him. Realistically Steven was dead by now, and the brothers would have hightailed it. So even if Fiddleford did make it to town. And brought law enforcements back to the cabin the brothers would be long gone. And then how long would it be before they were knocking on his door in Palo Alto.

His feet slowed, oversized boots scraping through the dirt on the side of the road. Trapped as he was by his thoughts Fiddleford didn’t watch the ground in front of him. He completely missed the stone that snagged his boot, and pitched him face first into the wet and muddy ditch he had been walking next to. 

He struggled to get up, his oversized clothing getting in his way. Floundering about in the ditch he missed the telltale rumble of an approaching vehicle. He didn’t notice the headlights until they had passed him by. But by then the truck was already whizzing past, and Fiddleford had no way of flagging it down. 

“Noooo!” Fiddleford howled as he watched its retreating taillights. He slumped back into the ditch he had just spent considerable effort pulling himself out of.

He was exhausted and disheartened. That had been the first vehicle he had seen since his escape. And he doubted he would see any more for a while. He lay in the ditch hot tears pricking his eyes. 

What was the point of any of this?

“I-I just want this to be over.” Fiddleford whimpered to himself. The tears that had been threatening to fall ran down his face leaving hot, angry tracks. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to go home.”

He curled in on himself, ignoring the dirt and the water that seeped through his scant clothing. Fiddleford wanted nothing more than for someone to find him, wrap him up, and take him away from this ditch. Take him home and take care of him. The only person his mind could imagine doing this for him was Stan. 

This shocked him a bit, for so long he had been holding onto the thought of returning home to California. But now when he tried to draw up thoughts of home all he got were memories of the basement. Helping Ford with his projects. Joking with Stan over lunch. Laughing as the brothers teased one another. He really had let the brothers get to him more than he had thought. He scoffed quietly wondering how long he had been fooling himself about it being an act. How long the brothers had known, and if this had been their plan all along.

Despite all that, or maybe because of it the most comforting thing he could think of was Stan carrying him home, and putting him to bed in his cot with his blanket.

With full darkness came a chill that seeped over Fiddleford’s wet frame. Shivering he pulled himself out of the ditch. He wrapped himself as tightly as he could in the soggy jacket. With his face buried deep in its fold, he could smell the brothers. Mostly Stan, but with a faint overlay of Ford. They were always entwined, even their scents were enmeshed with one another. Without really thinking his feet began to retrace his steps.

His mind was numb for much of the walk. Occasionally he thought regretfully about things he would miss. His boy growing up, first days of school, playing catch. But he realistically he had already lost those. He and his wife weren’t going to figure out their problems. And he would have ended up only seeing his boy on weekends and school holidays if he was lucky. 

This way at least they would be safe, he reasoned to himself. Ford and Stan would have no reason to bother them. 

It would be better for them too, they wouldn’t have to deal with the broken, messed up excuse of a man he had become. He couldn’t burden them with how he had changed. Happily living with incestuous lunatics. Excitedly assisting an insane murderer. Seeking comfort from another man. Any normal person would chase him off with a pitchfork if they knew what he had done, what he had helped with. No, this was for the best. Just remove himself from his family’s life all together. 

When his aching feet reached the gravel drive, Fiddleford paused. He took a moment to savor his surroundings. The darkness and looming trees should have been oppressive but they felt sheltering. The crisp smell of the forest filled his lungs. This may be the last time he saw the outside and he was going to enjoy it. 

As he headed for the cabin each crunching step he took reminded him this was likely a death sentence. But also that this was for the best. No use wallowing in self-pity, he had made his choice better stick to it.

Even with this resolve he did pause when he came within sight of the cabin. Fear flickering quietly in his stomach. The comforting scent of the jacket and the chance to be warm again drove him onward. Ford and Stan had always told him they didn't want to hurt him, they wouldn't punish him more than he deserved. And he had come back, that should count for something. 

Fiddleford knocked gently on the door, part of him hoping no one answered. Maybe the brothers had already left, and the cabin was abandoned. As time passed he started to fidget on the porch. He hadn't looked for the car when he walked up, maybe he should go and check on it. 

As he was turning to look, the door squeaked its protest as it opened. 

"Sorry for the delay, I w-" Ford said attempting to sound natural for whoever was at the door. With Fiddleford still at large both he and Stan were expecting some sort of spot check from cops tonight. They weren’t that far from town and depending on what Fiddleford was able to tell someone, their place would fit even a rough description. Though Stan had been pretty confident he could catch the engineer, he was still out looking for him.

Which is why Ford was so startled to see the man in question standing at the door.

"Fidds what are you doing here? Did you bring anyone with you?" Ford asked, hand moving casually towards the crossbow that was leaned against the door jamb while he cast a wary gaze around the dark yard. 

"N-no. I, uhm, well I..." Fiddleford tried to think of something to say but was drawing a blank. Instead he took in Ford's appearance. The researcher had gauze wrapped around his head. Fiddleford felt guilty about causing that. 

Before either of them could break the awkward silence that had fallen between them a car’s tires could be heard crunching on the gravel drive. Stan’s red car soon came into view parking in its customary spot by the cabin. Stan could be seen getting out of the car, obviously angry. 

“Stan,” Ford called from the doorway, “look who showed up.”

Stan bound up the stairs and onto the porch. His anger shifted like quicksilver to concern. “Fidds,” he cried out, “we were real worried about you there for a bit, man.” 

He took in Fiddleford’s bedraggled appearance. The man was hunched over, huddled in the oversized coat he had taken. He was also completely wet and covered in mud, Stan suspected he had a run in with a ditch. Fiddleford looked like he was about to start shaking or burst into tears. 

“Hey come on buddy, you look miserable let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Stan said laying his hands on Fiddleford’s thin shoulders and guiding him into cabin. 

“Stan,” Ford said a warning tone to his voice. He still stepped away from the crossbow and made room for the two men to come into the cabin. 

“Don’t worry, Sixer. I’m sure Bean-pole here was just about to tell us how sorry he is for making us worry.”

Fiddleford felt awful. He had expected anger from the brothers. For them to shout and scream at him, even hit him. But here was the kindness again, always, always kindness. Why in the world had he hit the brothers and tried to escape? Even after all of that, here they were still worried about him. But this couldn’t last for long could it? He had gone too far this time and soon they would show how angry they were. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I-I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Ford pulled the wet coat from Fiddleford’s shaking body. Fiddleford tried to fight to keep it but gave up as soon as Stan pulled him close. His quiet litany of apologies muffled against Stan’s chest. 

When Fiddleford had calmed down enough to pull his head away from Stan, he found the twins watching him patiently. Ford held a glass of water, which he passed to Fiddleford when he saw him looking around.

Fiddleford took the water, his eyes once again catching Ford’s bandages. “I’m really sorry about your head, Ford." 

Ford’s hand brushed over his head as he shrugged. “It's alright, we will have to punish you, but I understand why you did it.” 

Fiddleford stiffened at Ford’s comment. He briefly tried to squirm out of Stan’s grip but stopped when the other man tightened his grip. 

“Easy, Fidds, easy.” Stan soothed. “You knew you were gonna be punished, didn’t you? But you came back anyway. Because you know you deserve it for attackin' Ford and me, and tryin' to escape.”

Fiddleford hiccupped burying his head against Stan once again. He could only nod, he had known this would happen. He was surprised it hadn’t already, but thinking about it still made him scared. 

“There is no need to worry,” Ford agreed. “We can deal with that later, there are more important things to talk about first. Have you come back to stay? Permanently?”

“I tri-tried to get to town. I couldn’t find it. And while I w-was looking I realized n-nobody would help me if I did f-find it. The th-things we’ve done, what I-I’ve helped you with, they w-would be d-disgusted…”

Ford leaned forward stopping Fiddleford’s mindless ramble by catching the other man’s lips in a deep kiss. 

“Don’t talk like that Fidds, what have I been sayin’ this whole time. If it feels good, then it’s all fine. Don’t let other people’s judgement stop you.” Stan said, running his hands soothingly over Fiddleford, while Ford brought one hand up to cup Fiddleford’s cheek. Fiddleford leaned into both of the touches, whimpering when Ford pulled away.

“There’s plenty of time for that later, if that’s what you want.” Ford said with a chuckle and a smirk. “I would be happy for you to keep helping me with my research. I’m intrigued by your computer designs, we might even be able to get you some material to keep working on them.”

Fiddleford perked up at this, a small smiling twisting his lips. But he sensed that it was too good to be true and looked up at Stan, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“But,” Stan said, “we need you to do something for us first. To prove you’re with us for real. And that you won’t try to escape again.”

Fiddleford felt his heart sink at this, but he nodded anyway. He had made this bed, now he was going to lie in it.

“Will you do it, Fidds?” Stan continued, “Anything we ask? No questions?”

“I-I will Stan, I promise.”

“Good, yer doin' so good Fidds.” Stan praised. “Come on, we need to go down to the basement for this.”

The three made their way to the elevator and down into the basement. Fiddleford stayed tucked against Stan. His nudity and dampness made him cold and shivery so the larger man’s warmth was quite comforting. They stopped by Ford’s desk, and Fiddleford gazed longingly at his cot and blanket in his cage. All he wanted to do was curl up in there and go to sleep, forget everything like the bad dream that it was.

A gentle tap on his nose brought his attention back to the twins. He blinked sluggishly at Ford who stood before him something in his outstretched hand. Ford reached forward and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand, pressing the item into his grip. 

It was a knife. 

Fiddleford stared at it intently. Memorizing the shape and feel of the tool. Testing the weight of it in his hand. He glanced back at Ford to see what he was supposed to do with it.

Stan and Ford watched Fiddleford play with the instrument, both slightly on edge. They had just given the man who had bashed them over the head with a tray, a sharp knife. Should he decide to try a repeat performance they wanted to be ready. But Fiddleford just looked at them with a puzzled, slightly expectant expression. 

"There's something that needs to be taken care of." Ford murmured as they led Fiddleford deeper into the lab. Fiddleford nodded as they stopped just outside the area with the exam table. 

"Your friend is in there, he's in pretty bad shape." Ford continued, while Stan stood behind Fiddleford. His hands rubbing soothingly over Fiddleford’s arms. "We want you to go in there and take care of him."

Fiddleford began to breathe heavily. His grip around the knife tightened until his knuckles were white. 

"You'll be doin' him a favor," Stan said quietly right next to Fiddleford's ear. "He's sufferin' in there, and it’s only a matter of time. All we're askin' is you go in there and put him out of his misery."

Something deep in Fiddleford's brain balked and quivered at the idea, wanting to run and hide. But he had promised, and this was really only the next step in what he was already transforming into. He took a deliberate step away from Stan and into the other room.

Steven once again lay bound to the exam table. He was covered in bruises and blood. Fiddleford figured Stan must have taken his displeasure out on the other man. None of his wounds had been treated, and a few were still slowly bleeding. His breathing was labored and he didn't seem completely aware of his surroundings. The blindfold was still off and when he spotted Fiddleford his eyes lit up.

"Yo-u came b-back." He whispered. "Ho-w'd you get d-down h-ere? Di-d you b-bring help?"

Fiddleford nodded slowly, glancing at the blade in his hand. He had brought a type of help. 

He walked right next to the bound man and looked him over. He tried to see the captive the way Stan and Ford did. He tried to not think of him as a person or the family that was likely looking for him. He still couldn’t do it, but this was what the brothers wanted so that was more important. More important than his or Steven’s feelings. He would probably learn to think like the brothers with time, for now though because they wanted this would have to be enough.

He raised his hand high, and saw panic seep into Stevens eyes has he recognized the glint of the knife. 

"St-op F-Fidds wh-at are do-doing?" Steven managed to get out before Fiddleford brought the knife down to slash through his throat. 

Fiddleford was completely caught up in the feeling of the blade sliding through the other man’s flesh. He was snapped from his revere by Steven's blood splattering hot and sticky on his arm. He let out a broken sob. He buried the knife again and again into the dying man's chest. The body beneath him convulsed once or twice before going fully still. But Fiddleford continued to bury the knife into the flesh before him.

He only stopped when a large hand wrapped tightly around his right arm. Stilling it from plunging the knife in once again. 

"Easy there, Fidds, easy. That's plenty, you're done, you've done enough." Stan said, pressing himself against Fiddleford's shaking back. "You did a good job, you were such a good boy."

Fiddleford's breathe caught at Stan's praise and the knife fell from his grasp. He turned and buried himself against Stan's chest once again. Not caring that he was getting blood all over Stan’s shirt. Ford ignored the other two men in favor of scribbling in his journal. 

"I've got you, baby, I've got you." Stan said, pulling the trembling Fiddleford into his arms. "You're all done. Let’s go get you cleaned up."

"Wait, before you go. Fiddleford, I need to know how that felt." Ford called from where he was inspecting the cuts Fiddleford had made.

"I-I don’t know. I-it wasn’t what I ex-expected. I j-just did it because you w-wanted me too." Fiddleford mumbled his words barely audible against Stan's chest.

"I’m glad to hear that, but that doesn’t answer Ford’s question. How did it feel, Fidds?" Stan prompted, he pulled Fiddleford away from him and held him firmly so he had to look back at Ford and the dead body he had caused. 

Fiddleford took in the sight, trembling taking over his body. "I-I think I li-liked it," he admitted slightly louder. "That's okay, right?" He asked looking up at Stan.

The brothers shared a triumphant grin at Fiddleford's admission and Ford waved dismissively at the two men. Stan turned his grin to Fiddleford and pressed a gentle kiss to the man's forehead.

"It’s more than okay, Fidds, its perfect." He said, scooping Fiddleford up and carrying him towards the shower. "Let’s go get the mud and blood off you."

Fiddleford settled contentedly in Stan's arms. A warm feeling of belonging washing over him as he listened to Stan chatter. Fiddleford knew that everything wasn't fine. The brothers were probably still planning his punishment for escaping. But for now everything was alright. He had assisted Ford with his research, and Stan was taking care of him. Yes, everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright there it is, I hope it was enjoyable. As you can see I've used the term completed rather loosely for this story. I would like to keep writing for these guys and already have a few scenes bouncing around in my head. I'm just not sure where the overall story is going at this point. I'm mulling it over but I'll never say no to suggestions, thoughts, ideas, or things you guys would be interested in seeing.  
> Thanks again so much to everyone who read this, and thank you so much for all your kind comments and kudos. I really can't tell you how much they meant to me, and how excited they made me to share this with you guys.


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